


I Tadui Hanar

by fishydwarrows



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betaed, Canonical Character Death, Caradhras, F/M, Faramir goes to Rivendell au, Imladris, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, LOTR, M/M, Minas Tirith, Moria, Multi, Rivendell, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, also hama will get love, chapters will probably take a million years to be published, dont worry, elvish translations in the notes, faramir is the best, fuck u its fanfic i do what i want, hhow do i explain???, im super proud of this, lots of archaic language, lots of characters, lots of elvish, sorry about that, text taken from the books, writing in tolkien language is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishydwarrows/pseuds/fishydwarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "What if Faramir went to Rivendell instead of Boromir?" AU<br/>Faramir travels in Boromir's stead to Imladris, there he joins in the Council of Elrond and becomes part of the Fellowship of the Ring. Similar to Tolkien's own style, the perspective will change back and forth between Faramir's account of events and Boromir's. This fic is my pride and joy and I'm very pleased to present it to all of you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Travel Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is practically my child.  
> Infinite thanks to my beta diemarysues I could not have made this without her!  
> I hope you all can wait a long time because it takes me about a week to write a chapter. So there is no real post schedule. Just subscribe and take a look at your emails every once and a while! Thank you, and comment!

Faramir looked at the great doors that barred the entrance to the Steward’s chamber and did not expect his Father would grant him audience. Faramir was Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and that gave the man some weight behind his words, but Denethor was Steward and Faramir was  _ i tadui hanar:  _ the second son. One such as he would be lesser compared to his brother, Boromir. It was known to many that the siblings held great love for another and their remaining parent, but Denethor saved his affection for the older. In their Father’s eyes Faramir was less, Boromir was more - that was blatantly known to him. So, the young man gazed at the tall carved doors in uncertainty. He drew his breath and took a step forward.

 

At once the doors opened, unforeseen by him were servants drawing the doors with long ropes. Faramir kept his gaze straight. Ahead of him lay the throne of the absent king and, lower, the dark chair of the Steward. There he found Boromir standing, conversing with his Father, their heads drawn close as secrets passed between one another. 

 

Faramir knelt and waited for Denethor to notice. The whispering ended and he heard a distinct clearing of the throat that indicated he was to rise. Boromir clasped his brother’s shoulder when Faramir was on his feet. 

 

“Father,” Faramir bowed his head in respect, “I have come to you in this hour for the visions I have seen in my sleeping nights have become prominent and wholesome. In my ears before waking I heard strange voices repeating rhyme. I believe it is a message.” 

 

Denethor looked at Faramir cooly. “I have heard ere your audience of these dreams you so speak; Boromir has received the same. Though now I know for certain that you have received it first, for reasons not known. But speak! Let not it be said that the Steward of Gondor wastes his hours! Convey to me your vision of much import and I will dispense what wisdom I contain.” Denethor sat back into his marble chair and his features became unreadable so as to truly understand, with great consideration, what was to be told.

 

“Very well. In my dream, which had been faint ere afore now, cruel voices echoed from the East. The sky grew dark and the nightingales shrieked in fear of a growing thunder. I saw in the West a pale light remained steadfast and from it came to me voices crying like none I have heard in my life:

 

_ Seek for the Sword that was broken: _

_ In Imladris it dwells; _

_ There shall be counsels taken _

_ Stronger than Morgul-spells. _

_ There shall be shown a token _

_ That Doom is near at hand, _

_ For Isildur’s Bane shall waken, _

_ And the Halfling forth shall stand. _

 

“In my mind I could make nothing of the message, and knowing of your wisdom and knowledge in the lore of our people I made great haste after my duties to entreat your consultation, just, as I see now, my brother has done. In this account I trust your judgement,” Said Faramir. 

 

Boromir nodded to his brother before adding: “I have dreamt the same though in less detail.” 

 

Denethor then leaned back in his chair, looking less like a haggard Steward but as a scholar of great learning. And after some thought he looked into the eyes of his children and it seemed to Faramir he was deeming which to be more worthy to seek this mystery out to the full. “I thank you, Faramir, for your account, for it is of great importance to me. I see now that one of you is to seek out Imladris of which this poem speaks. Imladris, as I have made known to you both before, is the name of where the Elves oft dwell far in the northern dale. Elrond the Halfelven, greatest of lore-masters, may reveal the answers to this riddle you have both brought me. Desperate, it seems to me, is the need of this task, for I find the skies in the East  _ are  _ darkening and perhaps it would favour all who preside in Minas Tirith, Gondor even, to seek this riddle’s end. But! I warn you my sons, this way may be filled with doubt and danger and who is to say the result? Ruin perhaps! Alas, I leave it to you.” So ended Denethor and putting his hands together, he awaited an answer. 

 

“If there is danger to the city there is danger to all!” Said Faramir, stepping forward, “Let me journey to Imladris, Father! I am able, for you know of my skill with a blade. You have no use for me here, in any case.” 

 

Boromir grasped Faramir’s shoulder and pulled him away to the side, just far away that their conversation would not be overheard. “Brother, let me go in your stead.” Said Boromir, concern evident in his dark eyes. “If this journey be wrought with doubt and danger let me take up my horn and shield against it! I too had the visions, though it is evident they were of lesser power. Let Boromir bear the burden of our people for I know you carry much which I do not.” 

 

Faramir paused then and felt that what he may say next would change the chances of whatever strange history he was to be a part in. Then an awakening of courage and pride burst within him and he said: “I am not afeard of what is to come, my brother. I find I will not take your offer, no matter how kind it may be. You are needed here more so than I. You have evermore a head for battle, searching and waiting does not suit you.” Faramir playfully jabbed at his brother’s side. 

 

Boromir looked on at his brother with concern, but recognised the need to prove oneself in his eyes. “I bow to you Faramir,” Boromir said nodding slowly. “I wish upon you the evermost speed and wit on your journey.” Then Boromir took a breath and hummed to himself in mental agreement. “I know it is the rule of our House that  _ i erui hanar _ : the first son, is to bear it but I find that you may have need for it more than I.” And upon finishing he took from his gilded belt the Horn of Gondor. White and carved it was, the ivory smooth and shining in the dim light of the Royal Chamber. It’s form was aged and cared for, and it was apparent that Boromir had taken fine care of his birthright.

 

Faramir gasped and looked to Boromir. “Are you sure?” He asked quietly, his eyes scanning the crafted instrument. 

 

“Aye.” Boromir said, placing it into his brother’s hands. “I trust you brother, and Father does too.” 

 

Faramir scoffed and placed the horn at his hip. “Thank you brother, I-” But he was cut off by a firm embrace from his sibling. Slowly he wrapped his arms about Boromir. “I cannot promise not to come to harm, but I swear by our lost king that I will return to our kingdom.” 

 

Boromir leaned away and clapped Faramir on the back again. “I am proud.” He said beaming, “Let us tell Father the decision has been made.” Together they walked back to the chair. 

 

Again, Faramir kneeled; this time he brought out his sword and offered it up to Denethor. “Father, we have deliberated. I have deemed myself worthy of this task: to seek out Imladris and solve this vision’s riddle, wherever it may take me. Do you, my Steward, grant me permission to complete this quest?” 

 

A silence filled the hall. The dim light illuminated the wrinkles on Denethor’s weathered face. His lips were turned down and a darkness clouded his brow. He seemed in deep thought. Behind Faramir, Boromir shifted on his feet, nervousness clear. Then, Denethor stood and placed his hand on his second son’s sword. “I, Denethor the Second, son of Ecthelion the Second, Dúnedain lord of Gondor and twenty-sixth Steward, grant thee: Faramir son of Denethor, leave on mission to seek Imladris and go wherever your quest takes thee. Rise now! and prepare! You leave at once for I have duties to impart.” 

 

And so, Faramir rose and left the great hall to sharpen his sword and put away what little he would desire upon his journey. Upon finishing he spoke to Beregond of the Tower Guard on what his new duties would entail and rushed off to the stables to procure a swift horse and many a detailed map. Quickly, Faramir reached the gate of the city: there waiting for him was Boromir, his face grim and resolute. 

 

Looking down from his mare Faramir nodded to Boromir. 

 

“What is her name?” asked Boromir, patting the horse. 

 

“Aglor.” Faramir said, stroking the chestnut’s long mane. 

 

“Ah, ‘Glorious’ - how fitting! I see she will bear it well.” Boromir laughed and then swiftly his expression once more became stern. “Be safe brother.” Said he. 

 

Faramir adjusted the reins and looked, for the perhaps last time at his brother. “I shall be.” He said. And so, off rode Faramir, son of Denethor, in search of Imladris. And it would be many days and nights before he reached his destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> i tadui hanar: the second son
> 
> i erui hanar: the first son


	2. The Council of Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faramir arrives in Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such a positive response!! Please keep in mind that some of the text in this work comes directly from The Lord of the Rings. Elvish Translations will always be in the end notes! Thanks! And Comment!

Night was the time in which Faramir finally arrived at the gates of the Last Homely House. Riding forth, Faramir looked to the sky, and it seemed the stars were guiding his path. Slowly, he led Aglor to the wooden gates of the Elvenhome and there he was stopped by one of the guard.

 

“Halt,” The elf said, raising their hand to the chestnut steed. “What purpose bear you in this hour?”

 

Faramir looked down at the being and repeated the words he had practiced afore in his mind: “ _ Mae l’ovannen _! I, Faramir son of Denethor, have come far from Minas Tirith, in the name of my Lord Steward: Denethor son of Ecthelion. To seek answer to my riddle and find wisdom in the actions my people must take next, for a darkness is spreading from the East, and Lord Elrond is known to me as wise in these matters.”

 

The elf stared at him then, and soon enough, knocked on the gate and let him through. As Faramir went through, the guard called after him: “ _ Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn!”  _and he was struck with a sudden pride at being the one who had made the journey.

 

Aglor trotted on the cobblestone and crushed leaves under her hooves as she went. Faramir was worn and tired. He had traveled one-hundred and ten days and had almost lost Aglor whilst journeying through Tharbad. As he reached the stable, Faramir left his steed and let himself be guided to Elrond, to whom he explained once more, his purpose. The Lord then nodded and told Faramir to rest.

 

Then came an elf that was to take Faramir to a guest room. “Do not worry overmuch young lord. _ Le nathlam hí _and here you will stay. Tomorrow Lord Elrond will speak to those that are troubled in Council. You will know by the ringing of the bell.” Said the elf attendant that had shown him his way.

 

“ _ Le fael _”

 

“ _ Posto ve. _” The elf said quietly, and walked away as Faramir closed the door.

 

Faramir dropped his travel bundle onto the smooth stone floor of the room, and like a wooden puppet, jerkily made his way to the very soft-looking bed. Immediately  he fell into deep sleep and for once was not troubled by visions of the dark.

 

The next day, Faramir awoke in the early hours, feeling refreshed and well. At once he cleaned himself and exited the guest room, deciding to venture about before the council. Making his way across terraces, Faramir found himself in a great hall full of warm fire light. There elves lay, singing songs, writing poetry, and drinking wine. There he took seat and ate a breakfast of meats and fine cheeses, and he listened to the quiet tinkle of chimes and the gentle strum of the harp.

 

Suddenly, a clear bell rang out and Faramir was startled out of his calm. “That is the warning bell for the Council of Elrond.” Said the elf to his right, “Come. We are wanted.”

 

Blinking, Faramir followed the elf to a porch that seemed to be woven of tree roots and stone. With trained ears, Faramir could hear the bubbling of the foaming river-bed and the taciturn call of morning birds. He could feel the warm autumn sun as he sat in a wicker chair. Looking around he could see many faces, none of whom were familiar to him.

 

At the head of the table sat a regal looking elf, and to Faramir he looked old and young at once. “Ah, there is Lord Elrond.” Faramir thought, looking around again, “And there! Gandalf! Long has he been away from Father’s court. It seems now his duty was not with Men, but with the whole of Middle-Earth!” Faramir’s thoughts were true, for before his very eyes were Elves, Men, Dwarves, and even Halflings, gathered together for a single cause.

 

Then, the silence was broken, and the one Faramir had assumed was Elrond rose and presented the Halfling by his side, saying: “Here, my friends, is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent.”

 

Faramir watched the ‘hobbit’ sit as Elrond began naming those in the council. “What peril has such a small creature gone through?” He wondered, but Faramir turned his attention to the naming of the others. The hobbits: Frodo and Bilbo were named first, and Faramir tried little to hide his fascination with their kind. Gandalf was announced next, and the old man nodded and turned his solemn attention to Frodo. There was Gimli and Glóin, Dwarves of equal stature, though Gimli bore a bright red beard and his father bore white. Of the elves there were Glorfindel, Erestor, and Cirdan. And Elrond named the elf that had guided Faramir as Legolas, a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood. Then Elrond pointed to Faramir and said: “Here, is Faramir, a man from the South. He arrived in the shining of stars at night and seeks for counsel. I have bidden him to be present, for here his questions will be answered.”

 

Then much was debated in the Council of Elrond: of the world outside, of the lands in the South, and the rumors that had graced many a hall over the past years. Faramir sat through it all, listening attentively, and he felt a want to write everything down for much was his need for knowledge. Faramir listened as Glóin told his news of the dwarf-colony in Moria and the tidings from Erebor. Awe grew in his heart as he learned that the hobbit, Bilbo, had been sought by Sauron and that Daín, Lord of Erebor and the Iron Hills, had turned away _Nazgûl_ , messengers of the Enemy, thrice! “There is a worthy ruler!” Thought Faramir.

 

Then when Glóin was finished, Elrond spoke: “You have done well to come. You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy,”

 

Faramir shifted in his seat. “What can we do?” He thought, “In the face of such evil?” And it seemed that Elrond answered him:

 

“What shall we do with the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies? That is the doom that we must deem. That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands.” Elrond gazed at Faramir, and Faramir met the gaze with cool composure. He refused to seem incapable after persuading his brother that he would be prepared; it would not do to fail now. “You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.” Said Elrond, and Faramir found himself nodding along with his speech.

 

“Whatever has brought me here, may my deeds be not for naught!” Faramir thought, and beneath the long stone table, he clasped Boromir’s horn.

 

“Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. And first, so that all may understand what is the peril, the Tale of the Ring shall be told from the beginning even to this present. And I will begin that tale, though others shall end it.” And with a grim tone to his words, Lord Elrond began to describe the origin of the Rings of Power.

 

Forged by Celebrimbor, named Gwaith-i-Mírdan by his people, the elf was tricked by Sauron in his eagerness for knowledge and creation. Sauron then learned of the three Rings of Power and sought to overpower all, and in secret at Orodruin, he forged the One-Ring. Then Elrond spoke of Númenor and of the great men that once presided there, and how they came to ruin through selfishness and greed. And Elrond reminisced of the days of old when the splendour of Men’s banners still shown and the rift between races remained but a rumor.

 

“You remember?” Said the hobbit, Frodo, and Faramir realized then just how old and wise Elrond was.

 

“Yes, I have seen three ages pass in the West of the world, and many defeats, and fruitless victories, for I was the herald of Gil-galad and marched with his host on the edge of Orodruin at the Black Gate of Mordor. I beheld the last combat where Gil-galad died, and Elendil fell, and Narsil broke beneath him; but Sauron himself was overthrown, and Isildur cut the Ring from his hand with the hilt-shard of his father’s sword, and took it for his own.”

 

Then Faramir gasped and exclaimed: “So that is what became of the Ring! I thought it only a wives’ tale, forgotten in our lore. Isildur took it… That is grim tidings indeed.”

 

“Alas, yes!” Said Elrond, looking to Faramir, “Isildur took it when it should not have been. Círdan and I stood at the brink of Desolation and urged him to cast it off into the fires of Mordor, but our calls were refused. He would not listen to our counsel, and in that hour the greatest of misdeeds occurred, for Isildur said to me: ‘This I will have as weregild for my father and my brother,” and so he kept the treasure, and soon he was betrayed by it to his death; and so it is named in the North Isildur’s Bane. Yet death maybe was better than what else might have befallen him.”

 

“To the North these tidings came, and few must have known, my brother, no doubt, does not,” Said Faramir, “But, my ears are ever weary and my Father contains the scripts and tomes of our people. I too know of this history, and the Ring was lost, not unmade. Let it be said that the victory of the Last Alliance was not fruitless in its efforts!”

 

Elrond nodded and looked at Faramir with great understanding. “In the days of Isildur the Ruling Ring passed out of all knowledge, and the Three were released from its dominion. But now in this latter day they are in peril once more, for to our sorrow the One has been found. Others shall speak of its finding, for in that I played small part.” Elrond said, folding his arms.

 

Faramir at once stood tall before the Council. “Give me leave, Master Elrond, to say my part for Gondor, for verily from that land I come. It would be well for those of this Council to know what passes there, for the deeds here may conduct the weight of our ill-tidings evermore.

 

“By my brother the folk in the East are restrained, though I have pleaded against it. Our power lies not in malice but in reason, and evermore as the darkness grows our reason becomes clouded in malice. Ah, but through my brother the Morgul are kept at bay and ‘peace and freedom’ he says, remains in our dominion. But Boromir asks me often: ‘If the passages of the River should be won, what then?’ That hour is encroaching upon Minas Tirith like a wolf eyeing its prey. The power of the Dark Lord grows and I see it in my dreams in the form of riddles and visions. With the Enemy returned my folk were driven from Ithilien, though we kept a foothold there through my command. But Mordor has allied itself with the Haradrim and Easterlings and our forts were assailed, not by numbers but by power and so our foothold is no more.

 

“Many have said a dark shadow over the moon has passed many a night since then, a dark rider in the midst of a bright star’s light. Whenever it came a madness filled our foes and fear fell upon the boldest of our knights so that horse and man fled together. I was told that only a remnant of our eastern force returned and in their fear the last bridge of standing amid the ruins of Osgiliath was destroyed. My brother, Boromir, and I were among the company of that night. Four, including myself and kin, were only saved by swimming. But still, we protect, and we hold the west shores of Anduin still: and those who shelter behind us give us praise. But it is unfounded. Only from Rohan now will any men ride to us when we call.

 

“In this evil hour I have ridden to you, Lord Elrond: a hundred and ten days I have journeyed alone with my mare. But to seek allies in war or weapons would be unwise. I have come instead to ask for counsel and the unraveling of hard words. For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to me again and again, and once it came to my brother. In the visions I heard the words echo in my ears like bright booming thunder:

 

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand._

 

“Of these words I see little except that the Halfling it speaks of is Master Frodo, I suspect, and of Imladris it means your homely house, though I take pride in saying the discernation of the Halfling’s identity was wholly my part, but I did not receive this knowledge of my own wit. I learnt from my Father, Denethor, of Imladris wherein you dwell, and searched longly for the entrance to your gate until last night I came upon the good fortune of your doors. Now that I reside here I wish to know, how can this riddle be made clear to me?”

 

“And here in the house of Elrond more shall be made clear to you,” Spoke a man that Faramir had not noticed aforehand. He was travel-worn with dark eyes and hair, and the air around him seemed to crackle with hidden potential. Faramir awaited with bated breath. Then, in one swift motion, the man cast his sword upon the table in front of Lord Elrond, and lo! the blade was broke in two pieces! “Here is the Sword that was Broken!” Said he.

 

“And who are you?” Faramir asked in wonder, “And what have you to do with Minas Tirith?” He looked into the eyes of the haggard Ranger, searching for an answer and finding none.

 

“He is Aragorn son of Arathorn,” said Elrond; “and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur Elendil’s son of Minas Ithil. He is the Chief of the Dúnedain in the North, and few now are left of that folk.”

 

“Aye, I know of their scarceness for I am one of them, Chief of the Dúnedain of the South.” And in an admiration fueled stupor, Faramir reached to Aragorn and clasped his arm in reverence.

 

“Then it belongs to you, and not to me at all!” Cried the hobbit in amazement, springing to his feet. Faramir at once let go of the Ranger’s arm and took seat again.

 

“It does not belong to either of us,” Said Aragorn, standing tall; “but it has been ordained that you should hold it for a while.”

 

“Bring out the Ring, Frodo!” Gandalf said grimly, “The time has come. Hold it up, and then Faramir will better understand the remainder of his riddle.”

 

Then the room became quiet, and Faramir felt as if his heart had turned to ice. And there is was, small and shining, and Faramir to his own amazement felt repulsed by the sight of it instead of enticed as he expected to be.

 

“Behold Isildur’s Bane!” Announced Elrond. “Doom and great deeds are near at hand if this small token be the bringer.”

 

Muttered Faramir, “ Is it the doom of Minas Tirith? No, it cannot be, for why then would we seek a broken sword?”

 

“You are correct, Master Faramir, the words were not _the doom of Minas Tirith_ ,” Aragorn said, “It is as you said: ‘Doom and great deeds are near at hand’  For the Sword that was Broken is the Sword of Elendil and it has been revealed, and now the Ring, Isildur’s Bane, is found as well. Now that you have seen the sword that was sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?”

 

“I came only to seek the meaning of a riddle, but, hard-pressed my people are, and no small bit of hope is unwelcome. I see far beyond the shadows of the past but I cannot say so for others. I leave the decision, Aragorn son of Arathorn, to you.” Said Faramir, and he looked at Aragorn with belief and new-found loyalty in his eyes.

 

Then suddenly, the hobbit, Bilbo, arose from his seat and burst out:

 

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be king._

 

“Not very good perhaps, but to the point - whoever you think may doubt my friend - look to the word of Elrond, for I hope your journey of one hundred and ten days will yield more reason than the voices of doubt.” He sat down with a snort.

 

Aragorn smiled to Bilbo and looked again to Faramir: “Little do I resemble the figures of Elendil and Isildur as they stand carven in their majesty in the halls of Denethor, but I see the hope in your eyes and marvel at it. I am but the heir of Isildur, not Isildur himself. Yet you look upon me already as king. Why? My home, such as I have, is in the North, for the heirs of Valandil have ever dwelt there unbroken, and as the days darkened we have protected our lands. Lonely men are we, Rangers of the wild, and you know this, and we remain hunters - hunters of the Enemy for they are found in many places, not in Mordor only.

 

“If Gondor, as your brother says, has kept peace and freedom in its lands, then we have played a part in it too. Many things, as you said, that your strong walls and sharp swords cannot stay, better to reason then turn to malice! I have long protected the roads of my country. What roads would any dare to tread, what safety would there be in the quiet lands without our guard? I see, Faramir, you understand, for you are of the Dúnedain and know of which I speak. The task to keep simple folk free of care and fear, simple they be, but worth nothing, they are not. Gondor may now have bound the hands of Mordor, but when it is free what then?

 

“The world is changing once again. A new hour comes, Isildur’s Bane is found. Battle is at hand. The Sword shall be reforged. I will come to Minas Tirith.” Aragorn’s eyes shined with forgotten pride.

 

“Then let you come. For I would welcome it.” Said Faramir, “But Isildur’s Bane is in the hands of a Halfling and I wonder, how it came to be there.”

 

“That shall be told,” Elrond said.

 

“But not yet, I beg, Master!” Cried Bilbo aloud. “Already the Sun climbs to noon and I feel the need of something to strengthen me.”

 

“I had not named you,” Elrond said smiling, “But I do so now. Come! Tell us your tale, in full, and without verse but in plain words. The briefer, the sooner shall you be refreshed.”

 

“Very well.” Said Bilbo, and the Halfling began his tale. And Faramir was struck with wonder at the story of the hobbit’s venture, but he found himself gazing at Aragorn, a long-forgotten king destined to rise again, and Faramir knew he would follow him. Faramir listened to the tales and debate and learnt of Saruman’s betrayal. “To think, I traveled through his domain!” Faramir thought to himself. “Stranger things have occurred, but never such as an enemy wizard!” And listening again he heard the tale of the capture of the creature Gollum, and how Aragorn and Gandalf had pressed it for all the information it had. Then the room felt colder and Faramir looked suddenly to Gandalf as he repeated from memory the curse of the Ring:

 

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk_

_agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._

 

The wizard’s voice seemed to change as he spoke, and the dark words rolled off his tongue in black waves of malice. A shadow seemed to pass over the bright autumn sun, and Faramir felt chilled throughout his entire being. All trembled from its power, and were silent.

 

“Never before has any voice dared to utter words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey,” Elrond said as the darkness passed and the company collectively took a breath.

 

“And let us hope that none will ever speak it here again,” Answered Gandalf quietly, “Nonetheless I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond. For if that tongue is not soon to be heard in every corner of the West, then let all put doubt aside that this thing is indeed what the Wise have declared: the treasure of the Enemy, fraught with all his malice; and in it lies a great part of his strength of old. Out of the Black Years come the words that the Smiths of Eregion heard, and knew that they had been betrayed:

 

_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to_

_bring them all and in the Darkness bind them._

 

“Know also that the Enemy knows the One is found, that is long resided in the Shire, and he will soon know, already he may know even as we speak, that we have it here.”

 

Silence permeated the terrace once more until at length Faramir spoke: “What became of this Gollum you spoke of? To what doom did you put him?”

 

“He is in prison and no worse,” Aragorn responded, “He remains in safety, kept by the watchful eyes of the Elves of Mirkwood, where no doubt he will rest his finals days.”

 

“Alas! alas!” Cried Legolas, jumping suddenly to stand upon his feet. “The tiding I have been sent to bear are woesome and must now be told. Sméagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped.” Said he, his fair Elvish face in distress.

 

“Escaped!” Cried Aragorn and Faramir.

 

“How?  Lack of watchfulness?” Aragorn asked.

 

“None of the sort. I fear we were too tender to that pitiful creature.” Said Legolas, and at length he explained how the nasty creature escaped from the Mirkwood’s watchful eyes. And so again, information was relayed and more stories were told, and as time went on Faramir felt worryful. What could he do to stay this great evil? He knew not what. And eventually, the stories came to their closing, and the Council of Elrond was left with a single question:

 

What shall we do with the Ring?

 

Silence. Until, Elrond spoke at length of names Faramir had never heard and creatures he had never seen. And so the deliberation continued. Then, Gandalf said: “We should seek a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one.”

 

And struck with a sudden thought, Faramir stood saying: “Gondor yet stands, and whilst it does Sauron’s grievous march may be delayed. Our realm may be waning but its bow has not bent yet! Swift the Nine come from Mordor, but we must be swifter.”

 

“And yet the vigilance of Gondor can no longer keep back the Nine,” Said Galdor to Faramir hotly, “And there are other roads which Gondor does not guard, what will become of us then?”

 

“Then it is evident,” Erestor said, “That there are two courses we may take, as Glorfindel has already declared: to hide the Ring for ever; or to unmake it. But both are beyond our power. Who will read this riddle for us?”

 

“None here can do so,” Said Elrond solemnly, as Faramir sat down, his confidence waning, “At least none can foretell what will come to pass, if we take this road or that. But it seems to me now clear which is the road that we as a Council must take. To flee seems easiest, so it must be shunned. Too often have Elves fled. We must take the hard road, a road unforeseen. There lies our hope, if hope it be. To walk into peril-to Mordor. We must send the Ring to the Fire.”

 

Silence fell once more, and Faramir felt again to the Horn of Gondor, a familiar shape at his side. “I see the wisdom in your words, Lord Elrond. And I ask this: what can Gondor do to defend this purpose, may it be taken, could the Sword-that-was-Broken bring pride to the hearts of my people and find in them anew a chance of renewal? What can we do to lessen the evil in these Dark Times?” Said Faramir, looking up to the Council.

 

“Who can tell?” Said Aragorn, “But let it be known that the heir of Isildur will not stand idly whilst his people are in need.” Faramir looked at Aragorn and stared long and hard, trying to understand what was hidden behind the dark eyes of such a mysterious man.

 

“Then we return once more to the destroying of the Ring,” Erestor said, “Though we grow no closer to finding the Fire in which is was made, for Orodruin is far and the road is treacherous.”  

 

The silence grew heavy again, and everyone thought to themselves that perhaps their plans were folly. Suddenly Bilbo stood again: “Very well! I started this mess and so I will patch it up! I had planned for one last adventure, let it be this one, for I may be a very old hobbit, but I am still very capable of carrying Sting in my hand!” For a moment, Faramir thought the hobbit was joking, but looking again, he could tell there was no gaiety in his demeanor.

 

“No, Bilbo. You may have started this affair, but you are not expected to finish it. You cannot take the Ring back! It has passed on! It is a valiant offer, and one that will not be over-looked, but you cannot continue this story. Your part has ended! You once said you were almost finished with your book: I say: finish it! But ready yourself for a sequel when they return!” Said Gandalf.

 

Bilbo laughed and smiled sadly. “I don’t suppose I have the strength nor luck left to deal with the Ring. It has grown, I can tell, and I have not. But tell me: what do you mean by _they_?”

 

“The messengers who are to be sent with the Ring.” Gandalf said calmly.

 

“Exactly! Who are they to be? That is the point of this Council, I gather. Can’t we think of some names now? Or put it off till after dinner?” Said Bilbo.

 

No one spoke. Then the noon-bell rang, and Faramir looked around and saw that all were deep in thought, though to him the answer seemed clear. Across the table, he locked eyes with the hobbit, Frodo, and he knew what was to come.

 

“I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way.” Said Frodo.

 

“Then it is decided if I understand that what I have heard.” Said Elrond calmly, “I think, the task is appointed to you, Frodo; and if you do not find a way, no one will… But who will join him on this quest? A man, an elf, a dwarf? For the Free-Peoples we must represent. Who will share the burden?”

 

“I shall!” Came a voice from the corner, and suddenly, another, plumper, hobbit came running up past Faramir to Frodo. “You won’t send him off alone surely, Master?” Cried the hobbit.

 

“No indeed!” Said Elrond chuckling, “You at least will go with him, Master Samwise, for I know no greater companion. _And_ it is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

 

Samwise sat down, a blush tinting his brown cheeks and muttered: “A nice pickle we have landed ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!”

 

Faramir stood forward, and looked toward Frodo with respect. “I will follow you, Master Hobbit, if you will have my horn.”

 

“And my sword!” Said Aragorn, standing tall.

 

“And my bow!” Cried Legolas.

 

“And my axe!” Gimli said.

 

“Well,” Said Elrond, “I see now we have the beginnings of our messengers. Bear this burden well!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Mae l’ovannen! : "Well met! (formal)"
> 
> Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn! : "A star shines on the hour of our meeting (traditional greeting)"
> 
> Le nathlam hí : "You are welcome here (formal)"
> 
> Le fael : "Thank you (literal translation: You are generous) (formal)"
> 
> Posto ve : "Rest well"
> 
> (Art by me! Find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)


	3. The Ring Departs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faramir begins to form relationships with the Fellowship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for such a positive reaction! (And to my mom, who leaves one-two sentence comments) Remember to comment! Thank you!
> 
> Also note: This chapter is dedicated to my friend poplitealqueen who is the best and writes great obikin and a wonderful characterization of Dain! Everyone go read her work!!! <3

It was decided, after the Council came together once more, that Gandalf too would join the messengers in their task. But two more were still needed to fill the Company, and Faramir knew not yet the final members would be. Instead he put the matters out of his head and began to study the maps and lore of the East; much of it already familiar , but of the land of Mordor he knew but little except that it was a dark and evil place, full of black and vile creatures of the night. Together with Frodo, who he had found new companionship with, he researched countless tomes in the candlelight of Lord Elrond’s great library.

 

“I have found nothing!” Sighed Frodo, rolling up an ancient scroll, “I wish never to look at Sindarin again!”  The hobbit rubbed his eyes and arched his back.

 

“Come now,” Laughed Faramir, “Say ‘tis not so! I know many fine folk who speak the language, and it would be insult to them and all Elves, for that matter, to say such.” He looked back down to the map he was examining and gazed at Orodruin solemnly: “There are worse languages to curse.”

 

“Indeed!” Said a voice from the doorway. It was Legolas. The green-clad elf walked nimbly over to the two’s pile of papers, and glanced at one of the books that had been piled on the table. “Tongues of such should not be spoken in this place. _ ‘Aica umbar!’ _ My kin would say, and I find that I agree with them.” Said Legolas, and deep thought was clouded behind his grey eyes. “But come! Let me assist in your endeavour! Master Frodo, let me read for you, since you are in need of a break. Go to your Samwise! And you, Captain Faramir, rest! I can see the night’s shadow in your eyes. You need not worry for me, we Elves can stay in wakefulness longer than others, there is no need for you to tire out needlessly.” The Elf said, taking up a chair and jovially collecting unread papers.

 

“Thank you Master Legolas!” Said Frodo, hopping from his chair and stretching out his toes, “But are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asked tentatively.

 

“Ah Master Hobbit, you worry overmuch! As I said: Go to your Samwise! In fact, I believe he has been waiting for you for quite some time.” Said Legolas, gesturing towards the doorway where Sam was peeking in.

 

Sam then made an undignified squeak and stepped under the arch. “Beggin’ your pardon Master, it’s just that, well it’s gotten rather dark and I wondered if you’d be needin’ a break and such like.” Sam said fidgeting a little.

 

Frodo laughed fondly. “Oh Sam, don’t worry, I’ll come with you.” And with a leap in his step Frodo left the library leaving Faramir and Legolas together in the flickering candlelight.

 

“Captain you should rest as well,” Said Legolas as he leafed through a manuscript, “Heavy eyes do not suit you.”

 

Faramir smiled and resumed looking at the map in his lap. “I find, I must reject your offer, no matter your kind intentions Master Elf. For my race is a proud one, and I can spare a few hours of rest.”

 

Legolas sighed, “As it suits you Master Faramir.” And through the night, both Elf and Man researched Mordor’s black secrets and examined the most obscure maps.

 

Over the next days, Legolas, Frodo, and Faramir joined together to study maps of Eastern terrain. By the end of their search, Merry, Pippin, Samwise, Gandalf, and Aragorn had all joined as well. Gimli had said that he knew not the script they read for he was a Dwarf, and Dwarves do not speak nor read Sindarin. Pippin then pointed out that he, Sam nor Merry knew the script but were still helping, but Gimli remained mute on the subject.  

 

Faramir strolled about the sunlit halls of an elven chamber. The group endeavor of searching for information had not proven fruitless. In his mind, he could almost see the Black Gates of Mordor, for many nights he had poured over documents in the attempt of getting to know the terrain.

 

Now Faramir was taking a well earned break. Walking down the hall he observed the many murals and statues artfully arranged in complimenting themes and poses. There he could see Sauron himself, attempting to strike down the Last Alliance, the One Ring stark on his dark finger. Another mural showed fair Lúthien dancing in a grove.

 

Faramir sighed and his brow darkened in deep thought. He could stay here. That he knew well. He had found the answer to his riddle, and if he so felt it, could leave at once to deliver such news to his Father. But, he shook away that thought. To abandon one so small on such a large task would be honourless and Faramir knew he would never forgive himself to let that happen. He had made his decision, no matter what would befall him on this company’s journey, he would not tarry, even if the knowledge of death itself barred the way! He liked to think that the hope of his people laid in his hands, and to forsake that… That would doom him for sure.

 

Ceasing his wondering, Faramir then  walked closer to one of the statues near the back of the hall. It was a small thing, Man sized and in the fair form of a woman. Her hands were outstretched to the sky and a delicate veil covered her face. Cupped in her stone fingers was a small pool of water that reflected the shining sun. Faramir marveled then at the craftsmanship of the Elves, for the statue looked as though it could stand right then and speak to him.

 

“ _ Bain, al?_” Said a voice from behind him.

 

Turning, Faramir saw it was Aragorn, and he looked at the statue with a strange mix of grief and reverence in his eye. “Yes... “ Faramir said, looking back at the statue, “She is beautiful… “ He gazed at the statue in silence and noticed now that vines curled around the base of it, giving the illusion that something was dragging her down.

 

“That is Gilraen, daughter of  Dírhael, my mother.” Said Aragorn, walking to the statue slowly, “Nine years have gone by since her passing and she is missed.” He cupped the carven face, sun shone bright upon the two, one: frozen in a moment, the other: reliving.

 

Faramir began to make his way out, for what respect he could give. Then, Aragorn held up a hand, his gaze still on the stone woman. “No, it is fine. I find there are no grievances here. You were admiring her beauty, were you not? Look on if will compels you, I take no offense.”

 

Faramir walked slowly back to Aragorn’s side, wondering many things at once. His mind was so full of thought that he knew not what to say, so he stood in silence with the heir, and felt the warm sunlight on his back, and heard the gentle drip of water that leaked from the statue’s cupped hands. Then out of the silence, Faramir spoke: “Was she kind?” His question hung in the air.

 

Aragorn’s shoulders began to shake, and at once Faramir thought that he had spoken out of turn. Then Aragorn chuckled. “Yes,” He said quietly, smiling at the statue sadly, “She was kind.”

 

Faramir looked at Aragorn then and saw the shadow of a man that could be. There, standing in the sunlight, was not Aragorn the Ranger, but Aragorn the King. In his place was a shining white figure, kind and fair, loving and just. Faramir looked on in amazement, and spoke out in a flurry of emotion: “I will follow you.” He said.

 

And Aragorn gazed at him in bemused confusion, “And whither where you follow me?” Said he, turning to look Faramir head on.

 

“Wherever this quest may lead.” Said Faramir, pride bursting in his chest, “And I hope, to Gondor, and to Minas Tirith, where you will reside ‘til the end of your days.”

 

Aragorn then seemed to have a flicker of confliction in his eyes. “Let the roads lead where they may.” He said quietly, and turned from Gilraen’s stone body, “Come, we have tarried here long, let me show you the finest works I have seen in these halls.”

 

Faramir nodded and followed, but all the while he wondered why he had seen hesitation in Aragorn’s eyes when they had almost reached the subject of being King.

 

-

 

Days numbered again and the air became chill. Soon would be the time for the messengers to set out, and yet, they required two more. Still, Faramir knew not who the two would be, but in his heart of hearts he wished for Merry and Pippin to come along, for the two hobbits had charmed him with wit and they had become fast friends. Still, it was a small chance.

 

Faramir sat on a stone bench overlooking a gilded terrance and smoked from his pipe. He had been training all day with Aragorn, and the hobbits. The small creatures needed to know their way around a sword. True, they did _have_ swords, but knew little in the correct ways of using one. Eventually, Merry had become familiar enough with his blade so as to safely duel Aragorn. Still, they would have to train hard.

 

There was a shifting noise, and Gimli came from the shadows and sat upon the bench. The dwarf had been recluse in his business with the other messengers, whether by repugnant refusal to work with an Elf, or just disinterest. So Faramir remained silent as the smaller joined his seat, not wanting the dwarf to take offense. They smoked in silence, enjoying the view, and Faramir shivered a bit from the slight chill that had blown in.

 

“Often it grows colder,” Said Faramir, packing his pipe once more, “I begin to think we shall freeze before we even set out!”

 

Gimli chuckled, his pipe bouncing a little between his teeth. “Aye, and to cross the Mountains of Mist will be no easy task either.” Said Gimli.

 

“Still, I think… “ Faramir trailed off and looked at the Misty Mountains, looming so far off, “I think if we do not tarry, our journey will not be fruitless.”

 

Silence once more.

 

“I know not of the rock that holds those formations in place. Good? Bad? All is up to judgement. And the same for our company.” Gimli said, “I mean not to be rude to that Elf, but these past weeks I have felt that I must remain in the company of my own people.”

 

Faramir nodded, he too understood the sentiment. “As it must be so,” Said he, “I fear we will all grow tired of our own company in these coming months. Still! There is no reason to fret, I have no doubts that we will not get along.” Faramir set his hands on the stone, it was freezing. “Now excuse me Master Dwarf, for my people are not as resilient as yours, for I grow cold sitting here.”

 

Gimli laughed, hearty and loud, “Mayhaps it will be _you_ only who freezes on the cold mountain top!”

 

Faramir chuckled and stood up, “You are a fine friend Master Dwarf. I have no doubts that all will come into your favour.” And so, Faramir left to his warm room to catch sleep while he still could. The day of setting out was coming soon.

 

-

 

At last the time had come. For a short while, Gandalf and a small chosen few had set out in search of the Black Riders which had apparently come searching at Lord Elrond’s doorstep. When the Wizard had returned he announced that “Eight out of the Nine were accounted for at least,” and left the rest of the information up to the thought of the Elf Lord himself. Then, Elrond announced to them that The Company of the Ring should be Nine, and that all Free Peoples were to go to represent their races within the world. And as Faramir had hoped: Merry and Pippin had announced the want of traveling with and had joined in their endeavor.

 

And so, when the time came to set out: the Sword of Elendil had been forged anew, and Aragorn had dubbed it Adúril, Flame of the West, just as Elrond had dubbed their company, The Fellowship of the Ring.

 

Farewells were given in the great hall by the fire, and with all the company gathered, they waited only for Gandalf. Then, out from the doors came Elrond and Gandalf and Elrond said: “This is my last word. The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.” Everyone nodded solemnly, seeming to know how grave this task would be.

 

“To turn back now in the midst of it all would be cruel indeed.” Thought Faramir.

 

“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.” Gimli said, wisdom shining through his words.

 

“Maybe, but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” Said Elrond.

 

“Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart.” Said Gimli.

 

“Or break it,” Gimli nodded thoughtfully and Elrond continued, “Look not too far ahead! But go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces!”

 

“Good...good luck!” Cried Bilbo, who stood shivering and stuttering in the cold winter air.

 

And so, the company crossed the great bridge that lead to the Last Homely House, and the Fellowship passed into the first trials of their venture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Aica umbar : "Bad luck! (literal: Fell Fate)"
> 
> Bain, al : "Beautiful, no?"
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr: @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (Also I livetweet when I write, @wow__then)


	4. The Cruelty of Caradhras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship sets out Southwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for such a positive response! Just so you guys get an idea of how production works: I am currently in the process of writing chapter 6. I will only update with new chapters if I have two chapters in pre-production and at least one of the two done. So, being said, chapters will take a while to be released. I'm glad everyone enjoys the illustrations and text, I work very hard to keep it as accurate as I can! Thank you! And thanks again to my mom, who has increased her commenting average to three sentences now! Please comment!

For a fortnight they traveled until reaching the borders of the land Gandalf had proclaimed Hollin. “In the tongue of the elves,” he said, “it was named Eregion.” 

 

The journey was wet, cold, and tiresome, and many a time Faramir seldom felt warm, though he had wrapped himself if many layers before they had left Imladris. Now, the sun rose over the mountains that loomed in the distance, and Faramir could see clearly three peaks, glowing the morning rays. The Fellowship had stopped and at once Pippin had exclaimed that they must have traveled Eastwards in the night, for the mountains stood ahead of them. Gandalf had hummed discontentedly; no, had Pippin  _ not _ examined the maps of the land like all else in the company?” 

 

At which Pippin had huffed that he didn’t  _ remember  _ everything on a small map. 

 

And so the point was closed. It had been a few minutes past then when Gimli spoke up: “Master Pippin speaks well,” Said the dwarf, sitting on a nearby log, “ _ I  _ need no map. Look yonder and you will see them: Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr. The tall dwellings of my people in days past. Never have I stepped into the Halls that dwell beneath, Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, it was called, but now it is the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue. 

 

“Afar beyond the kingdom of old lies, Barazinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras,and Celebdil the white, called Zirakzigil, and Fanuidhol the Grey, called Budushathûr. Between the cruel peaks lie a shadowed valley oft remembered in dwarven tongue, Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale, which Elves call Nanduhirion. Ah, to see the fabled halls of Moria! Of Khazad-dûm! That would be a triumph indeed.”  

 

“But Lo. Master Gimli, we make for Dimrill Dale, if we climb Redhorn Gate on the far side of Caradhras, we shall come to Dimrill Stair, and then to Mirrormere and the Silverlode!” Said Gandalf, coming over to where Gimli sat. 

 

“My heart trembles at the thought of seeing the dark waters of Kheled-zâram, and to glimpse the cold springs of Kibil-nâla!” Said Gimli in reverence. 

 

Faramir pulled out his pipe and chewed the bit as the wizard and dwarf talked more of plans and how they didn’t have any yet. He was content to just stand and puff on that fine day for who knew when they would get another? Still puffing his pipe, he walked over to Frodo and Sam who were casually chatting under a small tree. 

 

“Ah! Master Faramir!” Cried Sam in delight, he brought the man closer to where they stood, “Frodo and I were having a bit of a bout, you see? And we were wondering if you could help us settle it.” 

 

Faramir nodded and smiled good-naturedly, “What so urgent a problem demands my attention away from my pipe?” He asked looking at Frodo. 

 

“Sam and I have come to a disagreement,” Said Frodo, “He argues that potatoes are better for cooking than tomatoes. I say ‘no, tomatoes can make a fine treat in many meals’ but he won’t hear it.” 

 

“Well, it’s alright for you Master, you love tomatoes - got that from his uncle, he did - but me? I can’t say I find the fruit tasty. Now potatoes, you can boil ‘em, mash ‘em, or stick ‘em in a stew! That’s much more useful than any frivolous red fruit!” Said Sam. 

 

Faramir laughed and tapped at his pipe,”You both remind me of Boromir and I as children! I being the younger would find it better to seek for fights rather than use my wit - which led to many disputes between him and I. But, I learnt to think with my head! Why once Boromir had decided he was old enough - and smart enough - to climb to the highest tower of Minas Tirith, that being the tower of Ecthelion. 

 

“Now, I was just a little boy, but I had finally gained some sense and self-preservation - which regrettably my brother greatly lacked - and seeing him grasp against the cold white stones made me see reason, and I said to him ‘Boromir come down! ‘Tis not safe!’ Alas! He did not listen, he fell and broke his arm, but we both learned something in the end. I learned to use logic, he learned not to climb tall towers.” Said Faramir, and Frodo and Sam both laughed at their friend’s tale. 

 

“This Boromir of yours sounds like a fine fellow.” Said Frodo, “Mayhaps we will meet him at the end of our quest.”  

 

“But, alas,” Said Faramir: “I have come away from our task at hand. I see your arguments, and I am honoured to be chosen as the final decision. But I offer you this instead, why not agree that both are fair in their merits? That solves which is best for they both hold equal standard?” 

 

Frodo and Sam nodded to each other. Then Sam patted Faramir on his shoulder and said: “You have done us a great service Master Faramir!” 

 

“Ah, but thank  _ you  _ for asking me. No short quest has been nobler!” Said Faramir. There was a pause before all three laughed quietly. “Now, I must attend to other matters of my attention, Goodbye!” Said Faramir, and cleaning his pipe, he walked back to where the rest of the company had been speaking. 

 

The Fellowship continued again in the land of Hollin, each were privy to their own thoughts and troubles, and Faramir found himself thinking of Boromir. He had not spoken much of his older brother as of late, but now that he had divulged that small story to his hobbit companions, he felt that he missed him. Faramir wondered at what he must be doing in that instant, so far away in Minas Tirith. 

 

In fact, Boromir was wondering such the same as he worked to fortify defenses of the eastern wall, but no will but that of a Valar or Maiar could stretch such  far a distance as to what separated the two siblings. So Faramir walked on with his companions, and then his thoughts turned to something strange. “I have not seen bird nor hare in all our travels in this land.” Thought Faramir, and he looked around, perhaps to disprove his thought, but he found nothing. Nothing living moved except the company and the grass in the breeze. 

 

Moving to the front, Faramir came beside Gandalf and Aragorn. “I have seen no living animal on our travels here thus far.” Said Faramir worried. 

 

“But what do you guess is the reason?” Gandalf said with interest: “It is enough surprise to see four hobbits, not to mention the rest of our merry band. And seldom are people seen or heard in these parts.” 

 

Still Faramir would not waver in his ideas, he felt cold, like a sudden watchfulness had come upon him and the Fellowship and that fear and destruction could follow if they tarried. 

 

“All things are silent.” Said Aragorn quietly, “I can feel it. It is unnatural, for though no folk dwell here now I have never seen nor heard anything of this sort. It seems there is no sound for miles about us, and our voices seem to make the ground echo. I do not understand it.” 

 

A chill ran down Faramir’s spine. 

 

“Then we must be more careful,” Said Gandalf. And both Ranger and Captain nodded. Gandalf looked about and whispered: “We must stop talking aloud, rest quietly, and set the watch.”

 

At nightfall, Sam took the watch, and Aragorn joined him. Yet still Faramir felt unease, and found his mind refused to rest. So, whilst listening to the whispers of Sam and Aragorn; he stared at the stars and wondered what dark things may befall his company. 

 

“ _I elenath síla…_ A beautiful night indeed.” Thought Faramir, and he gazed up above until the Sun rose in the East. Then, suddenly, a dark mass flew overhead, and out of the corner of his eye Faramir saw Aragorn and Sam lie flat against a holly bush in quiet panic. Waiting silently, he watched the mass of dark crows fly low and then dwindle in the distance. 

 

At once, he sprang to his feet, and Aragorn did the same. To Gandalf, Aragorn rushed, and to Legolas, Faramir did the same. As Sam and Faramir woke the others, Faramir heard Aragorn speak: “ _ Crebain  _ out of Fangorn and Dunland. I do not know what to make of this, but I suspect they are spying the land. I have also glimpsed hawks flying in the sky. I think we ought to move again this evening. Hollin is no longer wholesome for us: it is being watched.” 

 

“And in that case, then so,” Said Gandalf grimly, “is Redhorn Gate, and how we can get over that without being seen, I cannot imagine. But I believe you are right, we must make haste in the dark. Time will come later for thoughts of our future, for now we must not tarry any longer.”

 

All the rest of the day the company remained in hiding, and ever so often Faramir could see the dark wings of the  _ crebain  _ rushing in the sky. Then, when the Sun sank past the hills, the company departed at dusk. Nothing of note happened to them over the next two days, and on the third, Faramir saw cold Caradhras rising before them. 

 

Faramir shivered in the shadow of the great mountain, and next to him Aragorn did the same. Then came Gandalf, and Faramir saw his long eyebrows poking out from the edge of his wide brimmed hat. Gandalf snuffed the air and turned to the men. “Winter deepens behind us,” He said quietly, as if the mountains were watching their words, “We must make high for Redhorn Gate, but we may be seen by watchers of that path, or waylaid by some evil along the way, or the weather itself. What do you think of our course now, Aragorn?” Gandalf said. 

 

Aragorn turned to Faramir: “What think you Master?” Faramir felt his chest heave with pride and thought quietly of their few options.

 

“I would make for the Gap of Rohan in my judgement,” Said Faramir, rubbing his hands together, “But, Saruman is near so I know not which to choose.” 

 

Aragorn nodded. “We must face the perils of this quest for they will grow as we continue. I say we must go on; it is no good delaying our passage through the mountains, and the Gap of Rohan - as Faramir says - is too close to Saruman. Who knows what side the marshals of the Horse-lords serve?” Said Aragorn. 

 

“Who knows indeed!” Gandalf said, and then a thought crossed his face and he said: “But there is another way, a dark, secret way, that we have not yet spoken of.” 

 

“Let us not speak of it again unless of necessity! I could not decide before but now my mind is made. We must face Caradhras with all the swiftness of an eagle, come snow or misfortune, we must continue.” Aragorn said quietly, looking to Gandalf solemnly. 

 

“Then let me offer some of my counsel,” Faramir interjected, looking to both wizard and ranger, “I foresee the company facing bitter cold and we will no doubt freeze to death if we are ill prepared. So I say, when we leave here, we must find what little trees and bushes there are and form bundles of wood for each to carry. In this way, we can keep warm in the high frozen pass.” 

 

Gandalf and Aragorn nodded. Then Gandalf turned and told the Fellowship of the decision and what was advised.

 

So the company set out, and with great labour they climbed the twisting paths and came upon the narrow flanks of Caradhras. The snow fell fast and it swirled before the eyes of Faramir and chilled his breath. The dark was growing and only the glinting eyes of Gimli aided the Fellowship’s attempts at passage. 

 

Slowly, Faramir made his way to Gandalf and said as his teeth rattled: “‘Tis not as bad as I hoped but Gandalf! I wonder if this is a plot of the Enemy; my brother would say that it can govern the very storms upon mountains! Is it no wonder why we struggle?” 

 

“His arm would have then grown long indeed!” Said Gimli from behind, “To trouble us here three hundred leagues away!” Gandalf looked at the sky pensively, “His arm is long….” 

 

The company traveled on. Once in awhile they would halt and if they had luck, the wind would die down and the snow would slacken. But, as the journey continued, the snow grew into a bright blizzard. Soon the company toiled along the slopes, the snow’s weight bearing heavy on their backs. 

 

It became apparent that they had to stop soon after great rocks came crashing from the high peaks of the dreadful mountain. The Fellowship trudged to a rock outcrop and huddled close. 

 

Faramir pulled his cloak tight and brought out his bundle of sticks. “There can be no doubt,” Said he, shifting to his knees trying to block the cold wind that hounded Merry and Pippin, “that whatever watchers have been set could see us without a flame. Let us light a fire, our dear hobbits will freeze their wooly toes and this will be the death of the halflings if otherwise.” 

 

The company nodded and looked to Gandalf. “Very well,” Said the wizard, “try now and whilst you do so here:” And reaching into his pack he retrieved a leather flask, “Drink just a mouthful- it is  _ miruvor,  _ the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gifted it to me in our parting. Pass it round!” 

 

And so, the drink was passed as Faramir tried to make work of the wood. It was no use, even when given to Legolas and then Gimli. The wind was too strong. Gandalf then took up the sticks and with a word of command,  _ naur an edraith ammen! _ he thrust his end of the staff into it, and at once blue and green flames sprang out and licked the wood in his hand. “There! I have written  _ Gandalf is here _ in the flames so if there is any to see, then at least I am revealed.” Said Gandalf, placing the wood upon the ground, and at once the company rejoiced and joined about the fire. But soon the crackling red light died away as even the last bundle was thrown down. It was becoming clear that they would not last in this cold. 

 

As Faramir turned away from his chattering conversation with Merry he saw that the snow had grown high during their break. “Caradhras is indeed cruel!” He said, “The snow has grown less and the wind quieter in these past hours but look! We are barred by our own protection!” 

 

“Then we must wait through the night!” Said Aragorn, “And hope that we may find some clear path of the morrow.”

 

-

 

The next morning the snow had settled and the sky was clear, but it was apparent that Caradhras was not finished yet for the snow came almost to Faramir’s chin and it lowered nowhere. 

 

“If Gandalf were to light a flame we could escape this cool prison.” Said Legolas, looking at the snow in wonder for the snow troubled him little and he alone remained still light of heart. 

 

“If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us!” Grumbled Gandalf, and then quietly he said: “I cannot burn snow.” 

 

“Then let us dig.” Said Faramir and together with Aragorn the two men burrowed through the icy block. 

 

Legolas looked at the two and laughed, “Let the ploughman plough! Then I shall go to scout.” And jumping atop the bank with graceful speed he laughed again and said: “Farewell! I go to find the Sun!” And swiftly he raced away. 

 

After Aragorn and Faramir had plowed for a long while they turned and came back to the shivering company to find that Legolas had returned. “Well!” Announced Legolas, looking over the two disheveled men, “I have not brought the Sun, but instead I bring news. The snow continues down the bend and it remains high enough that Master Gimli’s bright hair would not even be seen when buried in it.” 

 

Gimli flushed red and dug at the ground with his heel. 

 

“Then the storm is ill will indeed,” Said Frodo, looking around sadly at the bright powder that might end their venture, “Our escape has been cut off.” 

 

“Fear not Master Frodo!” Cried Legolas, “The snow becomes shallow so even young Pippin can wriggle his toes in the sleet.” 

 

“But how are we to get there if it comes above our heads before it becomes shallow?” Pippin said rubbing his hands to his worn cloak and shivering. Faramir suspected that the young hobbit had never experienced this much cold before. 

 

“We must continue!” Merry said, clutching Pippin’s shoulders, “Why, even if Master Faramir must carry us upon his back!” 

 

Then Faramir laughed: “Your idea strikes a thought Master Merry! Come! Cling to my back Master Pippin! Aragorn and I shall bear your weight and form the way out of this cursed mountain!” 

 

And so, with Merry on Aragorn’s back, and Pippin on Faramir’s, the men travelled down their handmade path and continued ‘til reaching the shallow bank. “Rest here my friends,” Said Faramir to Merry and Pippin, “I will return with your kin in fine shape.” Then coming back, Faramir bore Sam on his back and soon the whole Fellowship had passed the suffocating snow. 

 

Bill the pony neighed, tiredness laced in his whinny. Sam came to him and patted his nose, “Poor Bill! He’s been so loyal even now in this dreadful snow.” And suddenly with a deep rumble, stones came falling from the mountain top once more. 

 

When breaking free from the heavy powder they saw the path behind them had been blocked. 

 

“Enough with this malice!” Cried Gimli in anger, “We are departing as quickly as we may!” And the mountain, seeming satisfied with the dwarf’s outburst, relented. Almost at once the clouds began to clear. 

 

The company traveled down and saw, just as Legolas reported, that the snow became shallow, and soon they were upon the narrow shelf they had presided upon the night before. 

 

Then Aragorn cried out: “The birds again!” 

 

Faramir rubbed his aching legs and touched the Horn of Gondor to see if it remained at his side. “It is no use!” He said turning to Gandalf, “We cannot help it now, whether they be good or evil, we cannot continue.” 

 

Gandalf nodded and spoke loudly: “We must go down at once! Not even on the back of Caradhras will we wait for nightfall!” 

 

The Fellowship then turned their backs from Redhorn Gate, and made their slow way back down the slope, cursing the mountain, wind, and birds. Faramir felt heaviness come over him, and looked back at the ominous mountain. Caradhras had indeed defeated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> I elenath síla : "The stars shine (Literal)"
> 
> miruvor : "Elvish wine (Literal)"
> 
> naur an edraith ammen! : "Fire be for the saving of us! (Literal)"
> 
> (Art by me, find more on tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet as I write @wow__then)


	5. The Mines of Moria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship enter Moria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! Again, text has been taken from LOTR. This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful determamfidd! She is one of my best friends on tumblr and is such a wonderful author! (for those of you who don't know) she is the writer of Sansukh which is infinitely one of my fav LOTR/TH fics go check it out! <3 Please comment!

Evening drew on fast as the Fellowship wearily halted for the night. 

 

Gandalf again passed around the  _ miruvor  _ from his pack and after each had broken their fast and drank, he called council of the company. “We cannot go forward to Redhorn Gate as of now,” Said Gandalf, warming his hands above the fire Gimli had made, “Our journey remains ahead of us and now we have no choice but to go on or return to Rivendell.” 

 

Pippin’s face lit at the mention of returning; Merry and Sam looked hopeful. But Aragorn made no sign, and Faramir chose then to think. 

 

“To venture back now would be madness…” Thought he, “But where are we to venture forward? I did suggest Rohan’s Gap, but… even so, the treachery of Saruman was great and the lands may have grown crueler than when I travelled through them on Aglor… Oh, that we knew what way to go!” 

 

“We cannot return to Rivendell, for in shame I would come.” Said Frodo, breaking Faramir from his thoughts. 

 

“You are right Frodo,” Said Gandalf, “To go back is to admit defeat, and face worse defeat to come, yet… I see it - a way in which we could pass through the mountains,”  Gandalf brought out his pipe and lit it, “but it is more evil than Redhorn Gate.” 

 

“What place could be more evil?” Asked Merry, “Surely it cannot be worse than Caradhras?” 

 

“I cannot say, my thoughts turned to it only twice: once before our quest, and once I spoke of it to Aragorn, but he was against it, at least ‘til the pass of the mountains had been tried.” Gandalf puffed his pipe, his expression dark. 

 

“Then tell us about it,” Said Merry, sighing. “It’s better to know the worst sooner.”

 

“The road I speak of leads to the Mines of Moria.” Gandalf said, and at once Gimli’s head lifted and in his eyes was a keen light of interest. But the rest of the company felt dread fall upon them, and Faramir cast his eyes to the mountains and wondered at their ominous shapes. 

 

“What dark things dwell in there that Gandalf himself dreads?” Worried he. 

 

Then Aragorn spoke darkly: “The road may lead to Moria, but will it lead through it?” 

 

“We must try.” Said Gandalf, “Since our forlorn travels on Caradhras, our plight has become more desperate. We are in need, and though I loathe to advise it, we must travel into the Mines. For it will be the darkest road that the Enemy will not expect us to take.” 

 

“The name of Moria is black…” Said Legolas quietly. 

 

“Let us not curse it so easily!” Said Gimli, standing suddenly, “There is a chance that Dwarves preside there yet. My cousin Balin, son of Fundin, may be found in its halls. That is hope enough for the path!” His chest puffed out with pride. “I will tread it with you Gandalf! I will look upon the halls of Durin and whatever may wait there - if you can find the doors that are shut.” 

 

“You encourage me, Master Dwarf! We will seek for the hidden doors together, but now I find I must ask; who will come with me?”  

 

“I passed through Dimrill Gate once, and though I came out again the memory remains black. I do not wish to enter a second time.” Said Aragorn quietly. 

 

“Then I wish not to enter it at all!” Remarked Pippin. 

 

“Nor me.” Said Sam. 

 

“Of course not!” Gandalf said, “Who would? I too have passed through Moria and know of that black memory. But the question is: who will follow me if I lead you there?” 

 

“I will.” Said Gimli eagerly. 

 

“I will. For you followed my lead through chilling snow, but I warn you Gandalf! Be wary as you pass through the Gates of Moria!” Aragorn said heavily. 

 

“I will go,” Said Faramir, rubbing at his chin, “I know not what dangers lurk, but I trust our company to hold true.” Faramir looked at Legolas and the hobbits: “And what say you?” 

 

“I do not wish to go to Moria.” Said Legolas softly, “But I will follow where Aragorn or Gandalf lead.” 

 

The hobbits were silent. Faramir saw Frodo shift in nervousness and pull at the cloth on his chest. “I do not wish to go,” Frodo finally said, “but neither do I wish to forsake the advice of Gandalf. I will go, but I loathe to say it.”Sam pat him affectionately on the arm. 

 

“Then let us be off,” Said Gandalf wearily, “The door lies south-west of Caradhras, some fifteen miles as the crow flies.” And so the company hastened through the night and day, until they came across a barren country close to Moria.

  
  


Gimli walked by the heels of Gandalf, so eager was he to come to the halls of his forefathers. “Lo! there is lies!” Exclaimed he, and pointed to a dried up stream, and next to it was a weather-beaten path, “The Sirannon, the Gate-stream, they used to call it. But what has become of the water, I cannot guess. Come! We must hurry on or we will be too late!” 

 

As the Fellowship followed Gimli’s cries and hard footsteps, the Sun sank down, for noon was ending. 

 

At last, after many bends and miles, they came to the Stair Falls, and traveled up narrow cut steps, and found the source of the waterless stream, for the Sirannon had been dammed and had filled the valley. 

 

Faramir looked at the dark lake, and noticed that neither sky nor sunset lay reflected in its waters. “Curious,” He said to Pippin, “The waters grow darker and dimmer as the light fades, and yet, no light shines on its surface now.” 

 

“Curious indeed!” Said Pippin, “Mind you, I wouldn’t want to step in that lake, much less drink from it.” 

 

Faramir chuckled and clapped Pippin on the shoulder. “Keep your wits about you Master Took! You may need them yet!” Said Faramir. 

 

The company made their way around the lake, for there was no other access to the land on the other side. 

 

Reluctantly, Sam loosed Bill the Pony. Faramir was sad to see him go, but not as grieved as Sam, who wept soundly when Bill had gone out of sight. 

 

“‘Tis alright my friend,” Said Faramir, and he patted Sam on the back, “Bill is stout-hearted and smart, You shall see him again. I have no doubts.” Faramir had many doubts, not least of which the likelihood of Bill returning, but it would be better to keep them close to his breast. 

 

But, eventually, the Fellowship reached dry ground on the other side of the dark lake and came to the smooth mountainside. On either side of a noticeably flat rock were large holly trees that loomed in the ever-growing darkness. 

 

“Well, here we are at last!” Said Gandalf, “This door itself is a great testament to the friendship of Elves and Dwarves in Elder Days gone past.” 

 

“It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned.” Said Gimli. 

 

“Nor was it fault of the Elves.” Said Legolas cooly. 

 

“I heard both rumours, and I will not give judgement. But please, Legolas and Gimli, at least be friends to help me. The doors are shut and hidden, and the sooner we find them the better, for night is at hand!” Said Gandalf and he sighed loudly. 

 

Then searching silently, the company scattered along the mountainside. Until at last, Gandalf found a smooth grooved wall of stone, and muttered words of magic under his breath and Lo! before their very eyes a great door appeared and high aloft its carven trees was a crown with seven stars, and above that an inscription. 

 

“ _ Ennyn Durin Atan Moria: pedo mellon a minno. Im Narvi hain echant: Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thuw hin.” _ Faramir read softly to himself. 

 

“Come now Gandalf, what does it say?” Asked Pippin eagerly as he stared at the shining door. 

 

“It says, Master Peregrin,  _ The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.  _ And beneath that:  _ I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs. _ This is the elven-tongue of the West of Middle-earth, much was spoken in the Elder Days. It seems to me that these doors are governed by words, and the word to this door has in no doubt been forgotten.” Said Gandalf thoughtfully. 

 

“Aye,” Remarked Gimli, walking close to the door and giving it a tap, “Narvi and his craft have vanished from the earth, and if I knew of what word ye speak - well, I would not wait a second to announce it.” 

 

“But Gandalf, you mentioned that you had passed through these Mines before.” Said Sam worriedly. 

 

“Ah, I came from the East. I did not come this way.” Gandalf replied. “And what spell to open this door with, I do not know. I can see that these doors open outwards, so we cannot force them.” 

 

“What are we going to do then?” Asked Pippin. 

 

Gandalf’s eyebrows bristled and he turned to Pippin sharply. “Knock on the doors with your head, Peregrin Took! If that does not shatter them, I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions and I will seek for the opening words.” Said Gandalf. 

 

Faramir walked from the doors and sat on a rock next to Merry. “It seems haste will not be with us this night.” Said he. 

 

Merry laughed, “You think so?” He looked up at the moon. But what to do with such time is beyond me. I would sit and smoke, but I’d rather reserve my Old Toby for needier times than these.” 

 

“Good choice,” Said Faramir, and he opened his pack and retrieved his wooden pipe and some of his snuff, “I, on the other hand, will share my  _ sweet galenas _ with you, fine Master Merry, and then you shall owe me a smoke. Then we will sit together in better times and find better ways to pass the time than listen to a wizard chant at a stone door.” 

 

Merry laughed heartily, taking the pipe gladly, “Indeed Master Faramir! I will hold to that debt, mark my words.” Together they shared the pipe in silence, watching Frodo toss a rock into the murky waters - and then being told off by Legolas. 

 

Faramir stared at the water. He saw small ripples in the center, but thought nothing of it. He decided rather to try his luck with the door’s riddle. “Speak, friend, and enter…” Thought he, and chewed on his pipe, “Speak,  _ friend _ … A friend can be… loyal? Just? A friend…  _ pedo mellon a minno _ …  _ mellon _ …” 

 

“ _ Mellon! _ ” Faramir exclaimed, standing suddenly, his pipe dropping from his mouth. 

 

At once behind them, the doors opened, and the company looked on in awe at the giant stone blocks that had swung out as if by magic. 

 

Faramir laughed giddily, “It was a riddle!” He quickly retrieved his pipe, “Merry, my friend, the words were true! Speak,  _ friend, _ and enter!  _ Mellon _ is Sindarin for friend!” 

 

Smiling, Merry pat Faramir on the elbow. “Seems that smoking did us well, friend!” He laughed. 

 

The company gathered together and made their way to the doors, unwilling to tarry. But suddenly there was a cry, and turning back Faramir could see that a creature had grabbed Frodo by the ankle, and Sam was hacking away at the putrid tentacle with his small knife. 

 

At once Aragorn and Faramir rushed forward, unsheathing their swords and slashing at whatever slimy creature thrashed in the depths. The arm let go, and Faramir grabbed Sam’ and Frodo’s arms and began to run. 

 

“Into the gateway!” Shouted Gandalf. “Up the stairs! Quick!” 

 

The Fellowship sprinted through the entranceway, and no sooner had Aragorn passed when the tentacles grabbed onto the doors and, with a crashing  _ Bam _ !, sealed them shut. The Fellowship was trapped in the Mines of Moria.

 

-

 

Faramir looked about the chamber, but saw nothing in the dark. 

 

“What was that thing?” Sam’s shrill voice echoed off the high walls. 

 

“I do not know, Master Samwise, I do not know… “ Came Gandalf’s voice from somewhere in front of Faramir, “Now, let us have some light, and see if we can make our way in this deadly dark!” And soon, a bright light shone from the wizard’s wooden staff. The light gave the grey room an eerie sheen, like when one swims underwater with their eyes wide open. 

 

The Fellowship travelled forward in silence, only broken by quiet breathing.  At last they came upon a landing and took rest, for Frodo had shaken off his terror at last and had become quite hungry. 

 

“How long do you expect us to travel in this dim cavern, Gandalf?” Said Faramir, taking a sip of _miruvor_ ; the wizard had passed the flask about again. 

 

“I cannot say. Going straight without mishap would take about three-four marches, I expect. I suspect that we are about forty miles from West-door to East-gate, but the road may wind much and who knows how long we may tarry.” He looked grim. 

 

Faramir hummed in consideration. 

 

After the short rest, they were on their way again, and marched for several hours though tired as they were. Gandalf led the weary company, Glamdring grasped in his left hand, and his twisted staff shining in his right. Alongside the wizard went Gimli, for his keen eyes eagerly drank in the visage of the stone halls, though they were dark and cold, seen only from the white light of the wizard’s staff. Behind the dwarf went the hobbits, with Frodo carrying Sting in front. Between them strode Legolas, his mind uneasy as he grasped his bow. And in the back Faramir walked with Aragorn, who looked on grimly at the dark walls in silence. Through many twists and turns they walked, never pausing for rest for fear of what lurked in the dark. 

 

Silently Faramir trudged and walked deep in thought: “I have seen merrier faces in the Halls of Rest! To think that Gimli wished to come to such a place; I begin to see even now that this is not a Mine, but a tomb! And a dreadful tomb indeed!” 

 

As they travelled, Faramir glimpsed large cracks and holes in the walls, and every so often, long stairwells traveling into the depths of the black darkness that surrounded everything. Gandalf and Gimli led the way, sometimes pausing to converse, for even the Mines of Moria were intricate for one of dwarf-kind. 

 

When the two stopped to whisper causing a particularly long silence, Aragorn spoke to the anxious company: “Do not be afraid!” Said he, “He will not go astray. I have followed Gandalf into darker pits and if there is any path to find, he will find it. He has lead us here against our fears, and he will lead us out again, at whatever cost to himself. He is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Berúthiel.” 

 

So the Fellowship continued in the dark, following the wizard and dwarf with small hopes. They travelled again for hours until at last Gandalf came to his first serious check. Before their eyes were three passageways, the left leading down, the right climbing up, and the middle running smooth. 

 

“I have no memory of this place at all…” Said Gandalf, leaning against his staff like it would help him remember. 

 

And so the company stood in thought, until Sam noticed a large stone door next the the three passageways. Upon entering they found a large room and at the end of the chamber, a dark well, seeming endless in its depths. 

 

Faramir gazed at it and felt a chill run down his back. It did not bode well in his thoughts. Going away from the unsavoury hole, Faramir began to unroll his blanket and make a bed against the wall along with the others. Then, suddenly, he heard an echoing  _ plunk!  _ and turned to see Pippin standing over the well. 

 

“What’s that?” Cried Gandalf, and soon Pippin had confessed that he had dropped a stone into the well. “Fool of a Took!” Gandalf growled, “This is a serious journey, not a hobbit walking-party! Throw yourself in next time, and you will be no further nuisance. Now be quiet!” 

 

Faramir rose and put a comforting hand on Pippin’s shoulder; it was apparent that the young hobbit felt ashamed of his deed. Faramir and Pippin stood in silence, until suddenly, the Fellowship heard faint knocks:  _ tom-tap, tap-tom _ . 

 

Faramir’s hands found the Horn of Gondor, and his skin rose with gooseflesh. “That is a signal if I ever heard one,” He whispered to Gandalf. 

 

“Yes…” Said Gandalf quietly, “And I do not like it.” Then turning to Pippin he said: “You, Pippin, can go on first watch as a reward for your foolishness.” 

 

Then the company slept, and Faramir laid with his blanket for a while, listening for sounds in the dark, until at last he drifted off into his dreams. Gandalf woke the Fellowship later, and announced that he had made up his mind and that they were to take the right stair. Everyone was relieved to finally leave behind the dark dusty chamber with the well, and Faramir felt lighter with his step as the door was closed quietly. 

 

Together they traveled some fifteen miles up the stairs, and as they went, Faramir heard the light padding of feet - but it was not the echo of any of the Fellowship’s heels. He then decided to keep a hand on his sword, for safety. At last they left the stairs and came across an entrance way. Faramir gasped when they passed it, for they had now come into a large hall, with streams of bright light shining through artfully cut windows. 

 

“I have chosen well,” Said Gandalf, pleased with himself, “But tonight, we will rest here, and seek for better ways on the morrow. For it is still a long way to the Dimrill Gate, but the greater part of the dark road is over, now we must find respite.” 

 

The company huddled together that night, a small speck in the cavernous hall. Gimli sat next to Faramir, and Faramir then turned to the dwarf and said: “Theses halls are mighty, Master Gimli. Perhaps mightier than Minas Tirith, though I admit, my bias will always lean to my kingdom. What revels must have been had here? For sure this kingdom once, and still remains, great!” 

 

“Thank ye!” Said Gimli, “My kin and I remain proud, and true it is that this kingdom once held many fine festivals and dwarrow!” 

 

“It must of taken many dwarves to build all this!” Added Sam, “Where did they live? Not in these darksome holes, surely?” 

 

“Ha! Master Samwise, these are not holes but the great realm and city of the Dwarrowdelf. It was once full of light and splendour, as it is still remembered in our songs.” Said Gimli, and standing, he clasped his gloved hands together and sang of his forgotten people, and his voice echoed about and bounced off the roof. 

 

“I like that!” Said Sam, and Faramir nodded, looking in about the chamber with newly restored awe, and tried to imagine what it was like in Gimli’s ballad. Since Faramir gazed about, he missed most of Sam, Gimli, and Gandalf’s conversation, but he heard the words “ _ mithril _ ” “ _ Thorin _ ” and “ _ Bilbo _ ,” and he thought back to the Council and remembered the frail hobbit that told his tale of the finding of the Ring. 

 

“To think! To have a corslet of Moria-silver! Never was there such a kingly gift! This Thorin must have loved the hobbit dearly.” Thought Faramir. 

 

Then a silence fell, and one by one the company fell asleep. 

 

-

 

At length, they woke to another day, and over breakfast Gandalf announced that this would be their last day in Moria, for everyone was loathe to spend another night in its dark halls, no matter the previous splendour. 

 

“Which way shall we take?” Said Faramir, glancing around and he dusted off his worn and travel stained cloak, “Yonder eastward arch?” 

 

“Maybe,” Said Gandalf, “But I guess we are above and to the north of the Great Gates; and it may not be easy to find the right road down to them.” 

 

So collectively they decided to first make towards the light in the north door, so as to find some light in the never-ending dark. Travelling, the Fellowship found themselves in a wide corridor, and at the end lay stone doors ajar, dimly lit. Upon entering Faramir looked about, and saw that their feet disturbed the heavy layers of dust upon the ground. 

 

The chamber was filled with light by a wide shaft high in the further east wall, and it was dimly lit, but to their eyes it seemed blindingly bright and Faramir blinked repeatedly. Looking again, once his eyes had adjusted, Faramir cast his eyes on a white slab of stone in the middle of the chamber. 

 

To his left, he heard Frodo mutter: “It looks like a tomb.” 

 

And Faramir watched as Frodo and Gandalf came to the stone, and listened as Gandalf read the inscription: “These are Daeron’s Runes, such as were used of old in Moria. Here is written in the tongues of Men and Dwarves:

 

_ Balin son of Fundin _

_ Lord of Moria _

 

“He is dead then,” Said Frodo quietly, “I feared it was so.” And Faramir watched Gimli cast his hood over his face in sorrow and let out grieved wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> miruvor : "Elvish wine"
> 
> Ennyn Durin Atan Moria: pedo mellon a minno. Im Narvi hain echant: Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thuw hin : "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. And beneath that: I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs"
> 
> sweet galenas : "Alternate term for Old Toby, used by the Dunedain"
> 
> pedo mellon a minno : "Speak, friend, and enter"
> 
> Mellon : "friend"
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write @wow__then)


	6. The Bridge of Khazad-dûm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship continue within the Mines, and a member is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such a positive reaction once again! Text has been taken from LOTR. Thank you so much for the comments! We have now come to the point where my chapters are no longer prewritten, so please be patient and wait , chapter 7 is angst central, let me tell you, and it is very long and will likely take a long time to write, so please bear with me. Thank you again and please comment! :-)

The Fellowship of the Ring stood in solemn silence about the tomb. Faramir clutched at the Horn of Gondor as Gimli’s soft cries echoed in the stone chamber. His mind went back to when he had last seen his brother: far-away, he was now from the steadfast jewel of Minas Tirith. 

 

“What would he say to a quest such as this?” Thought Faramir sadly, “To see the ruin of such great a city and the sadness it brings…” He decided then not to dwell on it any longer.

 

At length the company stirred and began to search Balin’s tomb for any such items that would bring them aid. Upon looking they found a smaller door which led to a chamber was strewn with broken swords and cloven shields, of both dwarf and orc design. 

 

Faramir knelt by an orc-scimitar and felt it carefully, the blade was dull and rusted black. He looked upon it for a long time in silence before he heard Gandalf speaking: “It seems to be a record of the fortunes of Balin’s folk,” He said. “I guess it began with their coming to Dimrill Dale some thirty-years ago… There is some I can read, but the script has been marred by time and stain. 

 

“Listen to this!  _ we slew many in the bright _ \- I think-  _ sun in the dale. Flói was killed by an arrow. He slew many in the great.  _ The next few lines are blurred once more, and I cannot read them. Then comes  _ Balin has set up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul. _ ” 

 

“The Chamber of Records?” Said Gimli hoarsely, “I guess that is where we now stand.” Gandalf ushered for Gimli to come to his side, and continued to read out what he could. “That is Ori’s hand!” Said Gimli, pointing to some script on the page that Faramir could not see, “He could write well and speedily and often used Elvish characters.” 

 

They read together again, and Faramir could see the pain reflected on the dwarf’s face. “Poor fortune, has he!” Thought Faramir, “To lose so much and not know ‘til now.” 

 

“And here is the last page…” Gandalf sighed, “I fear their end was cruel. Listen!  _ We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and second hall. Frár and Lóni and Náli fell there.  _ Then lines are smeared. It reads  _ The Watcher in the Water took Óin. We cannot get out. The end comes,  _ and then  _ drums, drums in the deep.  _ I wonder what that means… The last thing written in trailing elf-letters are:  _ they are coming _ . There is nothing more... “ Gandalf stood in silent thought. 

 

A sudden darkness seemed to creep into the chamber, and Faramir felt an overwhelming sense of dread. He began to look about nervously for ways out of the chamber that he and the Fellowship could use quickly. 

 

“ _ We cannot get out _ ,” muttered Gimli, “To think, that was the end to my valiant cousins…” His voice broke with grief. 

 

Gandalf looked around and said: “They seem to have made their last stand by both doors,” He sighed, “So ended the attempt to retake Moria! It is a sad end, if there ever was. But I fear we must leave Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria, here he must lie in the halls of his forefathers. But we will take this book, the Book of Mazarbul, and look at it closely later. To you, I give it, Gimli, to give to Dáin, if you ever get the chance. It will interest him, though I believe it will grieve him, as it did you. Come, let us go! The morning is passing.” 

 

“Whither where we go?” Asked Faramir, he grasped the hilt of his sword lightly in case. 

 

“Back to the hall, for our visit was not in vain. I now know where we are!” Answered Gandalf, and he relayed his knowledge on where they should travel next to leave the dark of the Mines. But, Gandalf had hardly spoken when there came a great, rumbling noise: a rolling  _ Boom  _ that sounded as though to come from the very depths below. 

 

The Fellowship sprang towards the door in alarm. Quickly, Faramir drew his sword, Aragorn and the hobbits did the same. Then came an echoing blast, much like the cry of a bird, and  _ Doom, doom  _ the drums rolled again, louder and louder. Then, they heard the hurrying of feet. 

 

“They are coming!” Exclaimed Legolas, reaching for his bow. 

 

“We cannot get out,” Cried Gimli. 

 

“Slam the doors and wedge them! We may cut ourselves out yet!” Shouted Aragorn, running towards the East door. 

 

“No!” Gandalf said, “We must not be shut in. Keep the East door ajar. We must go that way if we have the chance!” 

 

Faramir ran towards the Western door and set his shoulder upon it. “Wait! Do not close it yet!” Said Gandalf, he sprang to Faramir’s side and drew himself up to a great height, the air about him growing ever darker. “Who comes hither to disturb the rest of Balin Lord of Moria?” Said he. 

 

Faramir kept his shoulder to the door, and heard hoarse laughter, along with a deep voice that gave command.  _ Doom, doom _ the drums echoed in the deep. Quickly, Gandalf stepped before Faramir and flashed a light from his staff. Then, as arrows whistled past, he sprang back to Faramir’s side. 

 

“There are Orcs, many of them, and I spied a great cave-troll, I think, more than one. There is no hope of escape that way.” Said Gandalf. 

 

“They have a  _ cave-troll _ ?” Faramir said, “Then we must make for the Eastern door, unless they come from there as well.” 

 

“There is no sound outside yet,” Said Legolas, who stood next to Aragorn, bow ready to sing. “But we cannot block this door, it opens inwards. To flee pursuit so close behind into unknown peril would be folly.” 

 

“Then we must delay the enemy first,” Said Aragorn grimly, “We must make them fear the Chamber of Mazarbul!” 

 

Then, the footsteps grew heavier and louder, and swiftly, Faramir and Gandalf wedged the Western door with broken swords and crushed shields. The Fellowship retreated the Eastern side of the chamber, but they had no escape yet. For a great blow came to the Western door and it shook with the force; then it began to grind open, the metal screeching as it was rent. A large scale-covered arm thrust through the widening gap. Then a great toe was forced through below. The chamber was filled with silence. 

 

Then a ringing cry came from Frodo: “The Shire!” and quickly, Faramir and Frodo sprang forth, and each hewed at the closest appendage. Striking the foot, black blood spurted fast, and the body retreated into darkness. Faramir hurled himself against the door and slammed it closed once more. 

 

Suddenly, there was a crash on the door, and then another: rams and hammers were being beat against it. Then, the door cracked and Faramir staggered back; grabbing a shield from the ground, he brought it high to cover the hobbits. Arrows whistled through the broken door, and out from the crack sprang many orcs. The company was in dismay, but whilst the horns ever blew, fought quickly. Legolas shot two in the throat. Gimli hewed the legs of three. Faramir and Aragorn slew many. And, being afeard, the orcs rushed out of the chamber, above the din Gandalf shouted: “Now is the time! Let escape before the troll returns!” 

 

But, even before they had retreated, a great orc chieftain leaped into the chamber. She was covered in black mail, and had a broad, flat face, strewn with scars. With a thrust of her mighty shield she bore Faramir backwards to the ground. And diving under Aragorn’s blow, she thrust her spear into Frodo’s breast with so much force that the little hobbit became pinned to the wall. Sam rushed to Frodo’s aid, hacking upon the spear, whilst Faramir sprang to his feet. But, as the orc unsheathed her scimitar, Aragorn slew her, and her head fell cloven on the ground. 

 

_ Doom, doom  _ the drums began again, and Faramir, Aragorn, and Legolas took to the coming horde of orcs once more. 

 

“We must go now!” Shouted Gandalf as he helped cut the spear protruding from Frodo’s chest. Swiftly, Aragorn picked up Frodo, and Faramir pushed the hobbits towards the stair. But, Gimli had to be dragged away by Legolas: in spite of the great peril, his head was still bowed in grief for Balin. 

 

Once the Fellowship had gotten through, Faramir, with Legolas, hauled the great door shut. 

 

“I’m all right,” Frodo gasped, “I can walk. Put me down!” Aragorn nearly dropped Frodo in amazement. 

 

“We thought you were dead!” Cried Faramir. 

 

“Not yet!” Gandalf said, “But quickly, down the stairs! Wait for me a few minutes at the bottom. If I do not come, go swiftly and choose paths leading right and downwards.” He looked at Aragorn sternly as if to quell his speech, “Swords are of no more use here. Go!”

 

The Fellowship clung to the walls as they traveled down the steep stair, for it was too dark to see even a hobbit curl. Faramir looked back, and saw nothing, save for the small glimmer of Gandalf’s staff. He worried for the wizard. Listening, he heard a faint echo; the wizard - he assumed - was murmuring incantations against the door. He could not make out the words for soon came drum beats once again:  _ doom-boom, doom-boom,  _ but soon after all at once they stopped. 

 

Suddenly, Faramir saw a flash of light, and following it came a rumble and heavy thud. Then at once came Gandalf in a rush, and the wizard stumbled and landed upon the dusty floor. Quickly, Faramir helped him struggle to his feet. 

 

“I have done all I could, but I have met my match, and nearly been destroyed. We will have to go without light for a while: I am rather shaken. But come! we must go on! Come! Come!” Said Gandalf, and he gestured for Gimli to follow him in lead. 

 

Together the company stumbled on, and Faramir privately wondered what had happened. “What could be worse than orcs?” Thought he as the drum beats echoed in the dark, “Whatever great evil it be, it seems to have shaken Gandalf thoroughly, and that is no minor feat!” 

 

Soon the Fellowship groped the walls in silence, the sound of pursuit far behind them, and Gandalf led them forward, using his staff to feel his way like a blind man. After traveling a mile in the dark and descending at least seven flights of stairs, Gandalf halted. “It is getting hot!” Gasped he, “We should be at level with the Gates now. I hope it is not far. I am very weary. If an orc band sprang upon us now I do not think I could muster even the strength to speak!” And Gandalf made motion to sit on the stair. 

 

“What happened away at the door?” Asked Gimli, as he helped the wizard down, “Did you discover what foul evil lurked behind the doors?” 

 

Faramir walked beside Frodo and began examining his chest as Gimli and Gandalf conversed, it would not do for the hobbit to swoon as of now. 

 

“Come now, you need not do that Faramir,” Said Frodo softly, “I am whole, still yet alive, and only in a bit of pain.” 

 

“That is why I worry,” Faramir said, feeling the chest for a broken rib, “I trust your resilience Master hobbit, but being stuck with a spear that could skewer a wild boar  _ can _ have consequences.” 

 

Frodo sighed, and winced. “Fine.” The Hobbit said quietly. 

 

Faramir kept one ear on the wizard’s conversation whilst he worked to find injury: the wizard spoke of orcs crying ‘ _ Ghâsh!’  _ and that his spell had been countered. Faramir felt a chill down his spine and worked with more diligence. “A creature that has frightened orcs is a friend of mine, but alas! it must not be so.” Thought Faramir and he finished checking Frodo. “You are bruised, and I suspect it hurts to breathe, but I can see no damage to the rib. 

 

“Be wary, Frodo, my friend, we do not want you slain before we reach Rohan.” He said, standing up from where he knelt. Frodo nodded, and made his way over to the other hobbits slowly. 

 

Legolas came to Faramir’s side: “I worry for him.” Said the elf. 

 

“I too…” Said Faramir.

 

Again the Fellowship continued, and before long Gimli spoke: “I think… that there is a light ahead. But it is not daylight. It is red.” The dwarf looked at Gandalf, “What can it be?” 

 

“Fire? That is my guess. Though I know not what the orcs mean by it. Perhaps the lower levels are on fire? Still… we can only go on.” Said Gandalf. 

 

As the company continued forward, Faramir could feel the air growing steadily more hot. It worried him, so he walked quickly to Aragorn, who had taken place near the front of their group. “There is some evil here -” Faramir began to say, but he saw Gandalf had stopped. 

 

“There is some new devilry here, devised for our welcome, no doubt… But here we are at the Second Hall of Moria and none comes… Curious it is indeed… We must travel across the eastern hall, across the Bridge, up a broad stair, along a wide road, through the First Hall, and out. But come! look!” Said the wizard, and he motioned for the Fellowship to join him. 

 

Below Faramir saw another cavernous hall. On the floor a large fissure had opened and out of it emanated a red glow. Now and again flames licked the sides of the floor and a great, black smoke poured out from it. 

 

“Let us hope fire is not what lies between us and pursuit.” Murmured Gandalf, “Come! There is no time to lose!” He said louder. Even as the wizard spoke the drum beats began again:  _ doom, doom. _ And to Faramir the pillars seemed to tremble as the horn calls and shrieks increased. 

 

Quickly, the Fellowship sped across the smooth floor of the hall, and even as their feet hit the stone, the echoing noise of the orcs followed close behind. Soon Faramir heard an arrow loosed and saw it whistle over Frodo’s head. 

 

“They did not expect this.” Said Faramir, “The fire has cut them off, we may make it yet.” 

 

“Indeed!” Said Gandalf, “But look ahead! The Bridge is near. Careful, it is dangerous and narrow!” 

 

Indeed the Bridge was in front of them, and Faramir saw over the edge was a black chasm, probably leagues and leagues deep. Carefully, the Fellowship merged and began their wary trek to the Bridge connecting the other side. Swiftly arrows fell among them. Faramir marveled when one struck Frodo and the arrow sprang back. Another caught in the wizard’s hat. 

 

Faramir turned then and looked behind, and dread came upon him, for there they stood writhing, hundreds of orcs black against the red firelight. “We have no chance now.” Faramir thought in despair.  _ Doom, doom,  _ the drums throbbed in his ears. 

 

Legolas then gave a cry of dismay, for two trolls had appeared, each bearing slabs of stone. Faramir watched in horror as the trolls covered the fissure of fire; the orcs were coming closer. But, Faramir then saw it was not the trolls that had filled the Elf with terror. Something was coming up behind the hoard. It seemed to him like a great shadow, not quite man shaped, but not quite beast either. 

 

Faramir felt like the blood had drained from his body. The Ranger had studied lore as a child, and he knew what it was that came for them. It leaped across the fissure, the flames seeming to roar up to greet it. Its mane blazed, in one clawed hand lay a flaming sword, in the other, a whip. 

 

“Ai! ai!” Legolas wailed. “A Balrog! A Balrog has come!” 

 

“Durin’s Bane!” Faramir heard Gimli cry from the front. 

 

“Now I understand…” Said Gandalf, and Faramir did too. 

 

He raised his sword and took hold of the Horn of Gondor, and in one swift movement: blew it in challenge. For a moment, the orcs quailed and the fiery shadow halted. 

 

“Fly!” Cried Gandalf, “Fly! over the Bridge! This foe is beyond any of you. I must hold this narrow way! Fly!” 

 

But Faramir and Aragorn would not stir, for a spirit of some kind had awoken in Faramir, and he stood stalwart behind his friend, hoping that they could at least stay the creature so the rest of the Fellowship could escape. But the remainder of the Fellowship would not quail, and stayed on the other side of the Bridge watching. 

 

The Balrog reached the Bridge, and Gandalf stood tall and erect in the middle of the span, and further behind him stood Aragorn and Faramir, poised with their swords shining, ready to run to the Bridge again at any moment. 

 

The enemy of the wizard then halted, facing the grey wizard, and its shadow spanned out like two dark wings. It raised its whip and brought it down with a crashing crack, fire burning in its hideous nostrils, and yet, still Gandalf did not falter. 

 

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf said, and a great quiet fell, for even the orcs became silent, “I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the shadow!” Then in a great booming voice, Gandalf cried once more aloud: “You cannot pass!” 

 

The Balrog made no answer. To Faramir it seemed the fire died, but the darkness grew anew, ever encompassing the bulk of the chasm, spreading to the very tips of his boots. Then a red sword came swinging down, and it was met with white. With a ringing crash the Balrog’s sword burst asunder and Lo! there stood Gandalf, his small figure proud in defiance of evil. But he swayed and took a small step back before righting himself again saying: “You cannot pass!” 

 

With a bound the Balrog leaped upon the Bridge, its whip whirled and hissed. 

 

“He cannot stand alone!” Cried Faramir, and he turned to Aragorn who nodded, together they ran to the Bridge. 

 

“ _ Elendil! _ I am with you Gandalf!” Shouted Aragorn. 

 

“Gondor!” Cried Faramir, and he hoped they could stay the beast. 

 

But, at that moment, Gandalf lifted his staff and with a cry aloud his smote the Bridge before him. Faramir froze and watched in horror as Gandalf’s staff broke asunder and fell from his right hand. A blinding white flame surged through the chasm, and the Bridge cracked. At the Balrog’s feet it broke, and Faramir watched the creature of evil utter a terrible cry before falling into the abyss below. But even as it fell it swung its whip and its throngs grasped hold of the wizard’s knees, dragging him to the brink. 

 

Without thought, Faramir made with effort a run towards his friend. But it was too late, Gandalf staggered and fell, and grasped vainly at the stone, and slid into the abyss. 

 

“Fly you fools!” He cried, and was gone.

 

All of a sudden the fires went out, and a great darkness fell. Faramir looked back and saw the company rooted to the ground, looking down in horror at the pit. Then with a cry Aragorn roused them all: “Come! I will lead you now! We must obey his last command. Follow me!” 

 

Stumbling a bit, Faramir followed Aragorn, and watched the Bridge crack completely, falling at last. They ran silently up the stairs, Aragorn leading and Faramir taking the rear.  _ Doom, doom,  _ the drumbeats rolled behind echoing on their heels, but they were mournful now and slow;  _ doom _ ! 

 

They ran swifter and passed through the last great hall, into the daylight. There lay an orc band in waiting; Aragorn swiftly slew many, and the rest fled. The company took no heed of them. They ran down the steep stair and arrived at last on the threshold of Moria. But they did not halt until the shadow of Moria lay behind them, and they moved until the walls of Dimrill Dale did not surround them. It was an hour after noon and the sun shone high in the sky. 

 

Faramir refused to think, so he looked back, and saw a thin veil of black smoke rising from the gate. He could see nothing else. The dale was empty.  _ Doom.  _ Then, with a sinking sensation, Faramir’s thoughts turned to Gandalf, their leader, his friend. And grief overtook him, as it did all of the Fellowship. And with a staggering gasp, he stood silently, and stared at the smoke. 

  
_ Doom, doom.  _ The drums faded, and with it went Faramir’s last strains of hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ghâsh : Black Speech: "fire (Literal)"
> 
> Udûn : (Context) A depressed valley in northwestern Mordor
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write @wow__then)


	7. The Woods of Lothlórien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship journey into Lothlórien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such positive feedback! This chapter is like... the prelude to the angst in chapter 8, this is getting on the angst train,,next chapter is getting into angst station,,so hhahahahah look forward to that guys. Thanks again! Please leave a comment!

The company stood in silence, looking at the grey mountains, until at length Aragorn spoke: “Alas! we cannot stay here… Farewell Gandalf! Great was my warning and greatly did you fall. Now, what hope have we without you?” 

 

“None.” Thought Faramir, and a grim shadow was upon his face. He went to the hobbits as Aragorn proclaimed that they make their way South East and see what would come of it. Faramir bent down upon his knee and offered a hand to Sam. The halfling’s eyes were red rimmed and tears still ran down his face. “Come, Master Hobbit, I would not have you weeping on the ground like a widow.” Said Faramir softly, for he felt that loud words would bode ill for any in that somber mood. 

 

Sam nodded mutely and took the hand. When he was to his feet he said: “It’s just not fair, Faramir. Gandalf dying like that -” Sam paused and took a deep breath, “He was a fine friend if I ever had one.” 

 

Faramir nodded and left Sam to the care of Frodo. One by one he gently helped the hobbits gather their composure. Then at last he came to Legolas and Gimli. The former stood silently, his face was blank as he looked Westward. 

 

“Legolas?” Faramir said softly, “We must go on.” 

 

The Elf turned his head, and Faramir saw confusion and grief in his clear eyes. Legolas nodded slowly and walked to Aragorn’s side, readying himself to depart. 

 

Faramir turned to Gimli, who stood on bended knee facing Westwards as well. “My friend, we must leave this place,” He said gently, “Orcs will be upon us, and we have tarried long under the dark shadow of the mountains.” 

 

Gimli looked up at Faramir: “Aye.” The dwarf’s voice cracked, “Let us be going then.” 

 

Together, the Fellowship gathered to Aragorn, and at once he pointed outwards: “Yonder is the Dimrill Stair, down the deep cloven way we should have journeyed, now we must travel by other ways for alas! fortune has not been kind and there are ways we should have come by.” 

 

“Yet maybe if Caradhras had been less cruel.” Said Gimli angrily, “There it stands grinning in the light!” And he shook his fist towards the great peak and Legolas came to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

 

The company walked slowly and soon they reached a great pool, shaped like a pointed spear-head. Gimli looked upon it sadly: “There lies the Mirrormere, deep Kheled-zâram. I remember Gandalf’s words as clear as the waters, but no joy does the deep bring me, for he remains, and I must flee.” 

 

They went down the road from the Gates, and Faramir silently observed the broken steps and cracked stones at their feet. They came to a single column, broken at the top, and Faramir heard Gimli softly proclaim that it was “Durin’s stone” and he had to turn aside from it and gaze upon the dale. With Aragorn’s leave, Frodo, Sam, and Gimli turned from the stone and went down to Kheled-zâram. 

 

Faramir watched them go, and then turned and stared at the sky silently. He didn’t want to think. He focused instead on the wisps of clouds that slowly floated by in the blue sky. He took a shaky breath, and looked around for something else: his eyes found Aragorn who was watching where Gimli and his small group had left. The man turned and acknowledged him silently. Faramir found that his throat felt closed, like a tight tunic, and no words escaped his lips. There was no time yet to speak of troubles or aspirations. 

 

He looked up at the sky again. It was a deep turquoise, reminding him of the rushing streams of the Anduin near Henneth Annûn. It struck Faramir then that he missed his outpost greatly, and the men he led there. He knew that Boromir would help them with surety but, Faramir could not help when his thoughts lingered on the cascading waterfall that hid his outpost. 

 

It was truly in that moment that he wished to speak to his  _ iaur gwador, _ and he felt a wave of loneliness wash over him. He missed Boromir. 

 

But, soon Gimli returned with his fellows and Faramir was snapped from his thoughts. The Fellowship travelled South and went quickly by a well of water. Faramir remembered from his studying of maps that it was the Silverlode, or at least, what would become it. Aragorn pointed out to the hobbits where the water ran into the Anduin, and in the distance Faramir could see a golden haze. 

 

“There lie the woods of Lothlórien!” Said Legolas, and his face was alight with joy, “Long have I wished to visit such a place, for it is the fairest dwelling of my people. The trees are the fairest to look upon, and ever are their grey and smooth boughs a haven for the First Born. It is said in the autumn their leaves turn a golden hue. Never ‘til spring do the leaves fall. And the floor of the wood is golden and about scattered are the shining petals of flowers. Oh how I long to feel their grass beneath my feet! My heart would sing if it were brought under the eaves of that wood in springtime!” 

 

“My heart would be glad, even in winter,” Said Aragorn, adjusting his sword, “But, alas, the wood lies many miles away. We must shorten the distance. Let us hasten!” Then, Aragorn led the company at a great pace for many leagues, but Faramir turned and saw that Frodo and Sam lagged behind, and he ran to Aragorn.

 

“They tarry,” He said, “Can the hobbits not rest? Much has happened in the past hours of the day.” They halted, and Legolas with Gimli went to Frodo and Sam to check their wounds. 

 

“I confess I did see to Frodo in the dark halls of Moria,” Said Faramir, who had knelt down to examine Sam’s gash on his head. 

 

“Ah, your eyes are keen in the dark, but sharper all eyes are in the light.” Said Aragorn, “I am sorry, Frodo! So much has happened that I forgot you and Samwise were hurt.” His voice was heavy with concern, “You should have spoken. But, it is no matter now, we must still make haste. Come, Faramir! We must carry them. The time for healing will come later.” So, Faramir and Aragorn hoisted Sam and Frodo upon their backs, and the Fellowship continued on. 

 

For a time they travelled, until at last, Aragorn deemed they could rest. At once, he went and tended to Frodo and Sam’s wounds whilst the remaining company sought for firewood and kept watch. Faramir watched as Aragorn crushed  _ athelas  _ and cleaned the cuts and bruises upon the fragile hobbits’ skin. He deemed that Aragorn could do well by himself, so Faramir turned his attention back to the fire.

 

“Look, my friends!” Faramir heard Aragorn call soon after, and he turned questioningly. “Here’s a pretty hobbit-skin to wrap an elven princeling in!” Said Aragorn, and the man pointed to Frodo’s breast, whereupon lay a mail-shirt shining in the setting sun. 

 

“Mithril!” Exclaimed Gimli in wonder, “Is this the mail-coat Gandalf spoke of? If so, he undervalued it.” 

 

Faramir looked upon Frodo in amazement: how had he missed such an impressive protection when examining him before? “Keen eyes in the light, but blind in the dark, I must be.” Thought Faramir, “To miss such a gift when it was right before my hands… I am blind indeed.” 

 

Eventually, after the hobbits had been cared for and the company had eaten, they left off again. The sun sank and soon the stars shone in the night sky. It was a clear night, and dusk wrapped around their feet like a misty mantle. Faramir still refused to let his thoughts return to Gandalf. 

 

Then the silence the company was travelling in broke with Gimli speaking in the dark: “No sound but the wind… And no orcs or goblins about or my ears are crafted of wood.” The dwarf then spoke to Frodo in hushed tones, and Faramir gave no heed to it. 

 

Faramir then heard rustling, and about the Fellowship were golden leaves that shone silver in the twilight. 

 

“Lothlórien!” Cried Legolas softly, and the elf sped his pace, “How I loathe that it is winter! For I would wish see the Golden Wood in the height of its bliss!” 

 

Faramir recalled then his knowledge of Laurelindórenan, the Golden Wood. He knew of the Lady who lingered there and that some believed rumours that men who visited it might never return, from the words of his brother, but seeing Legolas’ joy told him all he need understand. 

 

“Alas that Boromir cannot come here.” Thought Faramir, looking high up at the maroon trees, “Perhaps he would like the sight, and understand the high people that surely dwell here.” Then Faramir sighed, and a solemn mood overtook him, for he wished not to think of people he missed but knew in his heart eventually he would. 

 

Faramir then listened to Aragorn when he gave instructions and soon the weary group were off into the forest. At length they walked until they reached what Legolas proclaimed as Nimrodel, the stream of the Silvan Elves. They crossed the stream slowly and took rest by its foaming waterfall. Legolas indulged the hobbits in tales of his people and when a silence fell, he sang of Nimrodel: 

 

_ An Elven-maid there was of old, _

_ A shining star by day: _

_ Her mantle white was hemmed with gold, _

_ Her shoes were silver grey... _

 

As Legolas sang, Faramir turned away and ate silently, and he stared out at the trees and waterfall, and was once more reminded of Henneth Annûn. But, before he could sink into memory, Aragorn strode over and sat next to Faramir. 

 

“‘Tis getting dark.” Said Aragorn, and he shifted a bit where he sat. 

 

“Yes…” Said Faramir. His mind was wandering again to the waters of the great river and Henneth Annûn. Aragorn looked at Faramir. Faramir wondered if Aragorn too felt a need to push aside his grief - he couldn’t tell. 

 

“You look weary,” Aragorn said. 

 

Faramir laughed bitterly, “We are all weary, my friend.” 

 

“Even so… get some rest when we can.” Aragorn said softly. 

 

“I will try.” Said Faramir, and he turned away from Aragorn. He heard Aragorn sigh and stand, and watched him make his way back to the rest of the Fellowship. Soon after that the company set out again, this time to find refuge in the trees, for they had tarried too long by the waterside. 

 

“Let me climb up,” Said Legolas, as he looked up at the tall tree, “I am home among trees, though these ones be strange to me.  _ Mellyn  _ they are called and they bear yellow blossoms. Never have I climbed one in all my years, but I guess now I shall learn what is their shape and growth.” 

 

“Whatever it may be,” Said Pippin, and he audibly gulped whilst he looked up, “they will make marvelous beds for birds, for I doubt they would offer any rest. I cannot sleep on a high perch!” 

 

“Then dig a hole in the ground!” Said Legolas, “I do not doubt you would welcome it, but unless you would like to be kept safe Master Pippin, I suggest in favour of the trees than the ground, for surely you would have to dig very deep to avoid orcs!” Then Legolas sprang up from the ground and grabbed a branch above his head. But even as he swung there came a voice from above which spoke suddenly. 

 

“ _ Daro!” _ It called out, and startled, Legolas dropped from the tree and shrank back against its trunk. 

 

“Stand still!” Whispered Legolas, “Do not move nor speak.” 

 

Faramir listened and heard the light sounds of laughter coming from above their heads. Then, the voices spoke down to Legolas in Sindarin, and the elf answered, though a bit unsure. 

 

“Who are they, and what are they saying?” Hissed Merry. 

 

“They’re Elves,” Whispered Sam, “Can’t you tell by their voices?” 

 

“Yes, they are Elves,” Said Legolas, “They say you breathe so loud that they could have shot you in the dark,” - at this, Legolas looked flatly at Gimli - “But also that we need not fear. They heard my voice by Nimrodel (for they have been aware of us for a while) and wish for Frodo and I to climb up to the  _ talan  _ for they seem to keep tidings for him. The others, they say to wait a bit and keep watch.” 

 

Faramir watched a ladder roll down from the obscured tree top. It was silver and the rope was twisted with such fine strength and care that it looked not like rope, but a silver lance reaching into the golden leaves. Such beauty was in its craft that it reminded Faramir of the tales of the elf Ecthelion of long ago, and he wondered if Legolas had been there. 

 

“Ah, but there is no guessing that elf’s age.” He thought, “Rather I should sit and watch the night go by without thought (for what it's worth.)” So, Faramir sat upon the ground, but at once he found himself surrounded by the remaining hobbits and Gimli. The dwarf looked frustrated, and listening Faramir could hear him muttering strange words like: “eyes of a hawk” and “ears of a fox” and “bloody elves” repeatedly. Faramir decided Gimli would be best left alone, so he turned his attention to the hobbits and he noticed that Merry was packing his pipe quite diligently. 

 

“What’s this, Master Merry?” Said Faramir inquisitively. 

 

“I am repaying my debt, my friend.” Merry said. “For you look like you need a smoke.” 

 

“Do I?” Asked Faramir, and he looked down at his apparel. “I see no such reason,” He said after a while of examining his clothing. 

 

“I see it in your features. You’re grieving.” Merry paused, and Faramir was quiet, “I can guess why but I can see you won’t speak of it yet. So, as a token from your friend, I ask you to smoke and release what strain you can.” Merry held out the pipe. 

 

Faramir’s hand wavered over it for a split second in hesitation before he took it. “Thank you.” He said quietly, and began puffing at the pipe. After a bit of smoking, he turned to Pippin who sat alone on the side (For Sam had followed Frodo up into the  _ talan _ ). “What’s this? Pippin by himself? I do not think Middle-earth could bear the mischief, my friend.” He asked, rocking the pipe in his hand. 

 

Pippin chuckled and spoke: “I mean not to make mischief right now, Faramir, but rather I want to know if I’ll end up climbing to that terrible height.” 

 

“‘Tis not so high. Why, I guess even an eagle would not catch you up in the leaves.” Said Faramir. 

 

“But, I worry I will fall from such a height!” Pippin said, twisting at his worn Shire cloak, “Hobbits take no liking to water  _ or  _ heights!” 

 

Faramir scooted closer to Pippin and patted him on the shoulder, “I will catch you if you fall.” 

 

Pippin laughed sourly, “That is a thought...But, I guessed I would come to heights soon enough on our quest - and water too - I shan’t think of it, for I suppose sleeping will be safer within the trees. But oh how I loathe to think I could roll right off!” 

 

Faramir laughed, “I am sure the elves remain sure in their craft, how else have they lived so long, aside from immortality?” 

 

“Just as well,” Said Pippin, “I will not sleep well tonight.” But, Pippin was cut off (if he had any more say in the matter) for Legolas had come down from the silver ladder, and proclaimed that the rest of the hobbits were to climb to the  _ talan  _ and spend the night in the tree, and in another the rest of the company would sleep. 

 

So, Faramir, Aragorn, and Gimli, were led by Legolas to another tree a little ways away from where the hobbits slept, and they climbed up together and set down what gear had not been hidden away. Faramir began to set his bedroll on the wooden  _ flet _ and he sighed. He just needed rest. 

 

Gimli came up and sat beside him, “How are you doing lad?” Said Gimli tentatively. 

 

Faramir looked at him wearily. “Well.” He mumbled and he returned his attention to the bedroll. He found now that he was in no mood to speak of matters of the mind or grief. 

 

Gimli snorted, “You don’t look ‘well’ - why, I’d say you look as if  _ you _ were the one who passed.” 

 

Faramir shot Gimli a tired look. 

 

“Ah,” Said Gimli quietly, “That was ill-said,” The dwarf pat Faramir on the arm slowly, “I’m sorry, my friend. I feel I should make light of our situation is all. I mean, here we are, in a house built for elves livin’ in trees, pursued by orcs and other unsavouries. It’s madness! Ach… Perhaps I just don’t want to grieve anymore.” Faramir remained silent and Gimli sighed, “All right, I’ll leave ya to your brooding, but any time you want to speak…” Gimli stood and waved his hand to where his bedroll lay, “I’ll be right here… We all are.” And with that, he walked away. 

 

Faramir grabbed at his blanket and stared at the roof of intricate woven leaves. He soon fell into a dreamless sleep. 

 

-

 

Day came shining through the foliage onto Faramir’s face, and after collecting their belongings, the Fellowship set out again but this time led by an elf named Haldir and his brother Rúmil. 

 

“Farewell, sweet Nimrodel!” Cried Legolas. 

 

Faramir looked back and saw the waterfall shining in the morning mist and felt an aching in his breast. He did not look back again. 

 

Soon the Fellowship came to a rushing stream. Haldir proclaimed that one of his people was across on the other side and that they would cross the Celebrant over silver ropes. Together in single file, the company crossed the thin bridge. When everyone had reached the other side Sam let out a sigh of relief. 

 

“I don’t have much mind to do that again.” He said, and Faramir watched Frodo pat Sam on the back. 

 

“We have now entered Naith of Lórien, or the Gore, for this land lies between the arms of the Silverlode and the great Anduin. We allow no strangers to spy the secrets of the Naith, and few indeed are permitted to come here.” Said Haldir, “As was agreed, we shall blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. You others may walk free for a little while until we come near to Egladil.” 

 

Gimli bristled, and it struck Faramir that the agreement had been made without consent, nor had it been fair. Gimli then confirmed Faramir’s suspicions. “Without my consent, this agreement was made. And I would not walk in the woods like a beggar or blind man. I am no prisoner, nor am I spy. My Folk have never had dealings with the Enemy, nor done harm to the Elves. I could no more betray you than I would Legolas or the rest of my companions!” 

 

“Peace,” Said Haldir, holding up a hand, “I do not doubt you or your word, but this is our law, and all must abide by it. I am not the master of this law, nor any law in our land, I cannot push it aside. I have already done much in letting you cross fair Celebrant.” 

 

Gimli harrumphed and remained obstinate. He planted his feet wide on the ground and placed his hands firmly on the haft of his axe. “I will go forward with my friends free, or I will travel backwards to my own land, where no doubt I will be received kinder for I am known there as true to my word.” 

 

“You cannot return from whence you came,” Haldir said, “You have thus far, and therefore must be brought to our Lord and Lady for judgement. They will decide whether to hold you or give you leave. You cannot cross the rivers again, the path back you cannot pass, for secret sentinels guard the way. You would be slain before you reached the tree-line.” 

 

Gimli drew his axe from his belt, and Haldir and his companion bent their bows. Faramir made move to protect Gimli. 

 

“A curse on Dwarves and their stiff necks!” Said Legolas. 

 

“Come!” Aragorn said, “If I am to lead this company, you must do as I bid. It is true that it is unfair and hard to single out our dwarf. Therefore I say: Let us all be blindfolded! Even Legolas. And that will be the best, though the journey may now be dull and slow.” There was a silence, and Faramir saw Rúmil with a look of confusion on his face. Haldir just looked exasperated.  

 

Suddenly, Gimli laughed heartily: “A merry troop of fools we shall look!” The dwarf put his axe away, “Will Haldir lead us on string, like children? Or like blind beggars with one dog? But, I will be content if Legolas joins in my blindness.” 

 

“I am an Elf and a kinsman here,” Said Legolas, his tone becoming wrought with anger. 

 

“Now let us proclaim: ‘a curse on the stiff necks of Elves!’” Laughed Faramir, and he drew away from his stance in front of Gimli. 

 

“The company shall fare alike. Come, and bind our eyes, Haldir!” Said Aragorn.

 

“I claim full amends for any stubbed toe or fall if we are not led well!” Said Gimli as his eyes were bound. 

 

Haldir huffed, “You have no claim, I shall lead you well. And even so, the paths are smooth and straight, you shall not fall.” 

 

“Alas for the folly of these days!” Said Legolas, and Faramir saw before he was blindfolded that the elf was angrily tapping his foot, “Here are enemies of the one Enemy, and yet I must walk blind through the golden forests of my people!” 

 

“Folly it may seem,” Faramir heard Haldir say, “But, indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him.” 

 

Faramir felt himself being shifted, “Mayhaps I am being moved behind our elven-guide for safety?” Thought he, and Faramir focused less on the conversations around him and more on the fair sounds of nature; leaves being crushed, a bird cooing, water rushing past rocks. But beyond that he felt the warm sun on his face and the breeze moving his hair, breathed deep the scent of  _ Mellyn  _ blossoms, could even taste the crisp morning air, for his other senses were heightened whilst he remained unseeing. 

 

Soon, everyone had been blindfolded and they filed together, keeping behind Haldir. They walked slowly, and Faramir felt the smooth ground beneath his feet. After a while, the companions became bold and walked freely without fear of rock or stick to trip on. Faramir relished in the walk, in the smell of the trees and the feel of the breeze. He heard the high voices of birds and the low murmuring of the stream, and he felt the trodden grass when they passed into an open glade. 

 

As the company marched on they felt the cool evening rest upon their heads, and soon they rested on the ground, though without fear of losing their balance or tripping, for their guides would not unbind their eyes. 

 

In the morning they ventured on, and soon Faramir heard the sound of feet marching towards them. It was a faint sound, so quiet that those with an untrained ear would not detect it at all, but then the Elven host began to speak in a cacophony of voices about them. Faramir listened and heard them speak such words like:  _ orch, auth, fern,_ _and ogol._

 

But, grim tidings were not the only things relayed, for Haldir spoke to the Fellowship: “They bring me message from our Lord and Lady. You may walk free, even the dwarf Gimli. It seems the Lady has received news of your company, and knows who and what is each member. Messages from Rivendell perhaps.” 

 

And when Faramir’s eyes were at last uncovered, his breath caught, just as he had heard Frodo’s no second before. For before him was a great mound, green covered with trees. There were mallorn and birch, cedar and oak, all together on the high hill, and above the branches was a white  _ flet,  _ and looking at the base he could spy white flowers like fallen stars or snow dotting the tree roots. The sky was a bright blue and cloudless and the hill cast a great shadow over the open field. 

 

“Behold!” Said Haldir, bursting with pride, “You have come to Cerin Amroth. For this is the heart of the ancient realm as it was long ago, in happier days Amroth’s house was built here. But he has long been gone. Here bloom the ever fair  _ elanor  _ and  _ niphredil _ . We will stay here awhile, and come to the city of the Galadhrim at dusk.” 

 

So the Fellowship sat themselves down upon the grass, but Faramir saw Frodo and Sam leave the fields with Haldir leading them to the hill. Faramir lay back completely on the grass, and from his left heard a rustle: Aragorn was walking towards the hill too. 

 

Faramir stared at the sky. The stark blue reminded him of Minas Tirith, with its high walls that gazed Westward. He remembered the guard Beregond, the one he had imparted with some of his duties. He wondered what that man was doing now. “Surely, they must be well.” Thought Faramir, but there was a hint of doubt that ebbed in his mind. He worried for everyone, his people, his country. 

 

He worried for his new friends as well - the Fellowship knew not where to turn, whither could they travel? 

 

“To Minas Tirith we must go.” Faramir thought, “There Aragorn will be received as King, as it should be….But…” Faramir squinted at the sky, “My father will think me a fool…” Faramir sighed. What could he do? “Alas for my father, that he should feel threatened by such greatness.” Denethor’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, disapproving features twisted into a frown.

 

Faramir’s resolve hardened, “No,” Thought he, “We  _ must  _ go to Minas Tirith, for our people. The Ringbearer may choose their path, I do not doubt we will all meet again, but there comes a time for all things to end.” He closed his eyes - yes, he was decided. 

 

They must go to Minas Tirith. For what hope did they have of success otherwise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> iaur gwador : "Older brother (literal)"
> 
> athelas : King's foil: a weed in context of common-tongue, used for staunching wounds in the hands of the royal.
> 
> Mellyn : Mallorn, an elvish tree
> 
> Daro : "Stop! (Literal) Halt"
> 
> talan : called flet in Westron, a wooden platform, commonly built on mallorn trees.
> 
> orch : "Orc (Literal)"
> 
> auth : "Battle (Literal)"
> 
> fern : "Dead (Literal)"
> 
> ogol : "Evil (Literal)"
> 
> elanor : A yellow winter flower, native to the Lothlórien region
> 
> niphredil : A pale winter flower, native to the Lothlórien region
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write! @wow__then)


	8. A Short Respite in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship rest in the Woods and tensions rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah my poor sons. This chapter is dedicated to two people, first: my old biology student teacher Mr. Haney who printed out these chapters and read them over the weekend just so we could talk about it, thanks! Second: my dad, who detests fanfic but despite that ive gotten him really invested into Clarity of Vision by my friend mithen (a great fic, go read if you havent!) and it goes to show that fanfic can be for everyone, plus he said he'll start reading this too. Anyway, thank you for all the comments, please keep them up, they are what keeps this story going! Thank you again! Comment!

Sunset came and dusk took its place, and the shadows of the Fellowship stretched endlessly on into the woods. Finally, night fell and Haldir and Rúmil unsheathed their silver lamps. The dull glow lapped at the edges of their cloaks and shined like metal that had recently been buffed and cleaned of rust. 

 

Faramir walked with a grim mood. He wished not to speak to anyone for his decision to travel to Minas Tirith weighed heavily upon his mind. “Aragorn will understand,” He thought to himself, “He will be received with the glory of the olden days. What more could such a great man want?” 

 

Soon, the travellers came to another open field, and Faramir looked up at the sky in which hung tiny stars like pieces of thread in a weaving. There upon the field was a great wall, deep green in the twilight, and it encapsulated tall  _ mallorn  _ trees. Indeed, they were taller than any Faramir had seen before in their trek through Laurelindórenan. The wind shifted the high leaves; they gleamed in the moonlight, silver, green, and gold. 

 

Faramir drew his gaze away from the mystical trees; beyond the wall was a deep fosse shrouded in soft shadow, and focusing a bit Faramir could see there was a path inlaid on the outer brink of the ditch. The paved stones were white as milk and stood out even in shadow. 

 

“Welcome to Caras Galadhon!” Said Haldir. The elf took a deep breath, and it seemed to Faramir that he was trying to drink in the fairness of the plain. “Here is the city of the Galadhrim in which Lord Celeborn and the Lady of Lórien, called Galadriel, dwell. But, alas, we cannot enter here. The gates turn Southward and do not look North. We must go round, but worry not, the way is short, and the city is great.” 

 

The Elves gestured for the group to follow, and Haldir led the company Westward on the stone path that lay on the brink of the fosse. In due time they reached a white bridge, and after crossing, found themselves at the gates of the city. The gates themselves, Faramir observed, seemed to look almost plant-like in their appearance, with great spheres of light hanging from vines like they had grown there. But look! The gates were wrought of fair metal…  or stone, he could not tell, but Faramir knew they weren’t natural. 

 

Haldir stepped close to the gate, and Rúmil was close behind. The elf knocked and spoke quietly, then, the gates swung open silently, and the Fellowship came through. Only the crunching of leaves could be heard. 

 

Then as they followed the path through the City of Trees, voices sprung up like wind-chimes, beautiful sounds like the tinkling of bells. Faramir looked around, he could see no elvish folk, but he heard the sound of singing. The company walked, and walked, and walked, until at last they came to a lawn and amid it stood a fountain lit by silver lamps. Behind the fountain was the mightiest tree in the wood and its grey bark was smooth. Beside it was a white ladder, and sitting before the tree were three elves: each clad in grey mail and long cloaks. 

 

“Here dwell Celeborn and Galadriel,” Haldir said, as he motioned towards the great tree, “It is their wish that you should ascend and speak with them.” 

 

Then, one of the elves blew upon a small horn, and it was answered thrice from far above. 

 

Haldir turned to Frodo, who had been staring upwards in awe. “I will go first,” He said, “Let Frodo come next and with him Legolas. The others may follow as they wish. It is a long climb, and those not accustomed to such stairs will become weary, but you may rest on the way.” 

 

Faramir watched the three climb up and then he turned to Aragorn. “Go first,” He said, “For it will be a fitting welcome to the Lord and Lady of the Wood to receive as such.” 

 

A discomforted light shone in Aragorn’s eyes, but, Faramir did not notice it. “Very well.” Said Aragorn resignedly, “Let us start up the ladder now.” 

 

So one by one, with Aragorn in front, the remaining company climbed the ladder. Faramir marvelled as they passed many  _ flets _ and privately laughed to himself as he heard Pippin’s complaints underneath him. Eventually, he reached the top and came to a large house built upon a wide  _ talan.  _ Faramir looked and saw that Aragorn had entered it. Cautiously, he too followed. 

 

“Welcome Faramir son of Denethor! Long has it been since the sons of Minas Tirith have walked under our leaves,” Said, who Faramir assumed was Lord Celeborn. When everyone sat down, the chairs made a half moon with all the seats facing the Lord and Lady. Lord Celeborn looked about the circle. “Here are eight, but nine were sent out: as said in our messages. But maybe some change of counsel came soon after they were sent.” He said, and Celeborn looked to his wife, “Elrond is long away, and a darkness gathers between us, each year the shadow has grown longer and this year especially.” 

 

“Nay, there was no change of counsel.” Said the Lady Galadriel, speaking for the first time. Faramir thought her voice sounded like a Psaltery that musicians played in court, clear and musical, but the tone deep and resonant. “Gandalf the Grey set out with the Company, but did not pass into the borders of this land. Now tell us where he is; for I much desired to speak with him again. But, I cannot see him from afar, unless he walks under the trees of Lothlórien: a shadow is about him, grey mist follows his feet, and his mind is hidden from me.” 

 

“Alas!” Said Aragorn, “Gandalf the Grey fell into shadow. He remained in Moria and did not escape.” 

 

After Aragorn spoke the Elves cried in grief and amazement. “These are evil tidings,” Said Celeborn, “the most evil that have been spoken here in long years full of grievous death.” Faramir watched Celeborn turn to Haldir (who had been sitting by his Lord’s side) and speak to him in Sindarin. 

 

Then Legolas regaled Lord Celeborn with the tale of how the Fellowship came to the Golden Wood. When Legolas finished Celeborn was silent, until at length he spoke: “Alas! We long feared that evil brewed under Caradhras, but to know now what terror the Dwarves awoke… I would have, as it were, forbidden you to pass the Northern borders, you and all who went with you. It could be said that in his final hours, Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the web of Moria.” 

 

“Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life,” Said Galadriel gravely, “Those that have followed him knew not his mind nor purpose. But however it may be with the guide, the followers are blameless.” The Elven Queen then looked upon Gimli, who sat silent in grief and regret. “Do not repent of your welcome to the Dwarf. If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim,  _ even  _ Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and would not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it be a nest of dragons? Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and the springs of Kibil-nâla are now cool, and Khazad-dûm’s fair pillars rose high in the Elder Days of Kings longs past.” Then, Galadriel smiled softly at Gimli, and Faramir watched Gimli meet her eyes and saw his face turn from fear to wonder and understanding. 

 

The dwarf smiled, rose clumsily, and bowed in reverence saying: “Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel shines brighter and is above all the jewels that lie beneath our grey earth!” There was silence, and Faramir looked at Gimli in awe of his silver tongue. 

 

Then, Celeborn apologized, and told of Gandalf’s days in the West. And when all was recounted Galadriel stood among the Fellowship and looked around, saying: “Long ago it was I who summoned the first White Council. And had not my designs gone amiss Gandalf the Grey would have governed, but it is not so, and if it had mayhap things would have gone otherwise. But even now there is hope left. I will not give you counsel, saying do this, or do that. For I cannot command any one of you to my bidding, it is my fate to perceive and know what is and what is not. But I will say this to you: your Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of you all.” And she looked suddenly at Faramir, and though he was taken by surprise, he held her gaze. He felt as if his mind was laid bare for her to see, and all his doubts and false hopes had been scattered among the golden leaves. 

 

“ _ Do not fear. _ ” Galadriel’s voice rang within Faramir’s mind like a clear bell. “ _ All will not come to ruin. But be wary son of Denethor, for doubt and fear will be your enemy. Do not forsake what you have come to claim.” _ Then Galadriel’s voice was gone from his mind, and the Queen spoke aloud, looking to Samwise knowingly: “Yet hope remains while the Company is true.” 

 

One by one, save Faramir, Galadriel looked to the Fellowship, and only Aragorn and Legolas could endure her gaze. At length she released them and smiled. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Tonight you shall sleep in peace.” Then the Fellowship collectively sighed, and each felt weary and heavy with burden. 

 

“Go now!” Said Celeborn. “You are all worn with sorrow and toil. Even if your Quest did not concern us closely, you should have refuge in this City, until you were healed and refreshed. Now you shall rest, and we will not speak of your further road for a while.” 

 

Then the company left, and Faramir felt dread upon his shoulders. He pushed back his grief and focused on the  _ flet. _ He would not sleep well that night. 

  
  
  


The Fellowship slept on the ground, much to the satisfaction of Pippin. The Elves had set up a pavilion and laid soft couches on the ground for their guests, and left quietly after that. Before retiring, the company gathered and spoke of what the Lady Galadriel had said in their minds. 

 

Faramir did not join them. 

 

Many days, the Fellowship stayed in Lothlórien, and Faramir enjoyed the sights and sounds of the wood. He did not see much of the Lord and Lady, but he was glad of it, for the Lady’s gaze had unsettled him greatly. 

 

Eventually, the companions began to speak of Gandalf, but Faramir never took part in their conversation. He still wished not to think of it. But, often he heard the music of the Elves, and Legolas explained that it was a mourning song for Gandalf. Faramir chose to ignore it. 

 

Then, one evening, when Sam and Frodo had left to go walking, Faramir went to the fountain that lay in the center of their sleeping quarters. He stared at the water, and found the grief that had been aching in his chest grew evermore as the water shone in the moonlight. He sat there a long time just listening to the sounds of the wood and water. As it grew dark he heard the trodding of feet behind him. 

 

“Faramir,” Said Aragorn behind him, “May we speak?” 

 

Faramir turned around and looked at Aragorn quietly. He nodded. And Aragorn led them away from the fountain and pavilion, to where the trees obscured view of the company. 

 

“What is it?” Asked Faramir, once they were hidden away. 

 

“I see it in your eyes, Faramir. This grief. It is consuming you.” Said Aragorn, he crossed his arms and leaned against a  _ mallorn  _ tree. 

 

“I do not understand what you mean.” Faramir said incredulously. 

 

“When we ran from Moria I saw you. You comforted everyone and helped them move along - except yourself. You have stopped many a time now to stare out blankly to the trees, or the sky, or the water.” 

 

“And what is that to you?” Asked Faramir coldly, “You have no need to ask me these things! There are more important problems at stake.” 

 

“Such as?” Aragorn asked calmly; his gaze pierced Faramir just as Galadriel’s had. 

 

“Where are we to go now? Gandalf was our guide and I admit you probably knew of his plans, but not me! So where to? South to Rohan? But, Saruman has his spies. Or North to Mirkwood? But, it is an ill place. No, no, we  _ must _ go to Minas Tirith, to receive aid from my people.  _ Your  _ people! Who have been waiting for a King! Would you forsake us now in this time of darkness? Or are we nothing? You see, you are more important than me!” Said Faramir, and the last sentence came out louder than he would have liked, but he didn’t care, not now. 

 

“You would have me rule? Whilst your father sits at his throne and governs already -” 

 

“Yes!” Cried desperately Faramir, “You are King!” 

 

“What right have I to be King!” Aragorn spat out the words bitterly, “The blood of Isildur runs through my veins, and I carry Andúril willingly, but that is it. The shame in my house is too great. I am no more a King than you.” 

 

“No.” Faramir said softly, “You are more worthy than I. Gandalf saw that.” 

 

“But Gandalf is gone.” Said Aragorn angrily. 

 

“Yes…” Said Faramir softly, and he began to weep, though his ire had not disappeared. “He is gone, but you remain. And you have a duty to your people! So see it through! I have followed you this far and I will not forsake you, but I will not stand by whilst you wallow in self-pity!” Shouted Faramir. 

 

“And what of you!” Cried Aragorn, “You say these things but I have yet to see you claim help for your own! You cannot see what is happening, this grief will ruin you!” 

 

“I CARE NOT!” Roared Faramir, “Let it ruin me, for who do I have?” 

 

“Us.” Said Aragorn icily, “But you cannot see it.” Then Aragorn walked away, and Faramir stared quietly at the ground until his resolve broke, and he fell to the forest floor, weeping for Gandalf, his brother, and his home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Psaltery : a wooden board with gut strings stretched between pegs. The strings were plucked with fingers: performed on the lap or on a table, or in front of the chest held with a strap around the neck.
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I live tweet when I write @wow__then)


	9. Farewell to Lórien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship leave Lothlórien and make their way down the Great River to Amon Hen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such positive feedback!! We now reach the last stretch in our journey within FOTR and I'm really excited to start writing chapter ten, which is, if you haven't guessed already: the breaking of the fellowship. Comments are the lifeblood of this fanfic and i reread them all the time. Thank you so much for reading! Comment please!

Faramir leaned against the  _ mallorn  _ tree and stared at the starry sky. He had stopped weeping many moments ago but still felt the wetness of tears in his eyes. He felt foolish, and hurt. He could not understand why Aragorn did not wish to rule. 

 

“The fault is mine.” He thought, he pressed his hands to his temple and pushed hard as if to expel all the darkness in his mind. “It is all my fault…” He whispered and his breath hitched. He took deep breaths, he wished not to weep again. He looked around and rose unsteadily to his feet. He wiped his nose and took another deep breath. He looked about once more, and this time saw the Lady Galadriel walking by. 

 

She was shining in the starlight, tall and fair, and she turned her gaze towards him and beckoned him with her glance. He paused, sighed shakily, and followed her. She led him to the Southern slopes of the hill of Caras Galadhon, and after passing through a hedge, they came to an enclosed garden. Faramir noticed that there were no trees so the garden was open to the sky. Down long pearl coloured steps the Lady went and past a murmuring stream until at last they came upon a basin wrought of silver and an ewer. 

 

Galadriel went to the stream and filled the basin, and when at last the water stilled she breathed upon it and then turned to Faramir. “Here is the Mirror of Galadriel,” She said. “I have brought you here to look in it, if you will.” 

 

The night was black, the only light shining was the piercing stars. The mirror seemed alight in starlight. Faramir took a hesitant step towards it. “What will it show me?” He asked, looking up and meeting Galadriel’s hard gaze. 

 

“It shows things that were, and things that are, things that yet may be, and things that might never be. But what you may see, I nor the wisest cannot tell. Do you wish to look?” She held her hand out and gestured to the basin. 

 

Faramir was silent, but took another step closer. 

 

“If you wish it, do so. But, do not touch the water.” Said Galadriel. 

 

Faramir came up to the mirror and looked down. At first, all he could see was the starry sky, then the mirror grew grey, then clear, and the water seemed to grow in size. In the basin he could see Minas Tirith, it was bathed in black smoke. Faramir gasped softly and leaned close, but did not touch the water. Heads were being rocketed through the sky like birds in flight, and there seemed to be no end to the screaming that he heard. Faramir’s breath became quick. 

 

The scene changed, and before him stood Boromir, his face was obscured half by shadow, and three arrows stuck from his body like some cruel pin cushion. Boromir fell to the ground as if time had been slowed. Faramir’s breath came in gasps. 

 

The scene changed once more, and Faramir found himself looking at his own body on the ground, blood ran down his head and nose, and it looked as though a broken arrow shot out of his right shoulder. He could not tell if he was dead. 

 

Then, the mirror became clear, grey, and reflected the starry night once more. Faramir pushed away from the basin and stood quietly as he tried to control his breathing and fresh tears that had sprung up when he had seen Boromir. 

 

When he was calm, he turned back to the Lady Galadriel. “Why did it show me those things?” He asked, his voice wavering with emotion. 

 

“The Mirror shows only what must be seen.” Said Galadriel, and she walked up to Faramir. He had to look up, for she was taller than he. “Things are changing.” She said, “And much will come to pass…” She paused and walked to the stair. “Keep close what you think is important, for it will serve you well. In the end.” She followed the stair upwards, leaving Faramir to follow. 

 

Later that same night the company was summoned once more to the chamber of Lord Celeborn and he spoke at length of their departure. “Now is the time, when those who wish to continue this Quest must harden their hearts and leave this land. Those who wish not to go may stay here a while. But whether you stay or go, none can be sure of peace. We come now to the edge of doom, and it is your choice to follow it.” 

 

There was a silence. 

 

“All have resolved to go forward.” Said Galadriel, looking into the Fellowship’s eyes. 

 

Faramir took a breath, “As for me,” he said, “My way home lies onwards and not back.” He could feel Aragorn’s eyes upon him. 

 

“That is true,” Said Celeborn, “But is all this company going with you to Minas Tirith?” 

 

“We have not decided our course,” Said Aragorn. “Beyond Lothlórien I do not know what Gandalf intended to do. Indeed I do not think that even he had any clear purpose.” 

 

“Maybe not,” Said Celeborn, “Yet when you leave this land, you can no longer forget the Great River. It cannot be crossed save by boat. And are not the bridges of Osgiliath broken down and all the landings held now by the Enemy? On which side will you now journey? The way to Minas Tirith lies in the West, but the straight road of the quest lies East of the river, upon the darker shore. Which shore will you now take?” 

 

“If my advice is heeded, it will be the Western shore, and way to Minas Tirith.” Said Faramir, and he paused. “But I am not the leader of this company.” He said and looked to Aragorn sullenly. The others said nothing, and Aragorn refused to meet his eye. 

 

“I see that you do not know what yet to do,” Celeborn said, “It is not my part to choose for you; but I will help you as I may. There are some among you that I know can handle boats: Legolas, whose folk know the swift Forest River, Faramir of Gondor, and Aragorn the traveller.” 

 

“And one hobbit!” Cried Merry. “Not all of us look on boats as wild horses. My people live by the banks of the Brandywine!” 

 

Celeborn nodded, and relayed the Fellowship with as much advice as he could give. After the Lord was finished Aragorn thanked him many times and the relief was clear in his face. 

 

“All is now prepared,” Said Celeborn, “You shall journey tomorrow. Let not this venture strike away your mirth, go now to a fair and untroubled sleep.” 

 

“Good night my friends!” Said Galadriel. “Sleep in peace! Do not trouble your hearts and minds overmuch with thought of the long road tonight. Maybe the paths that each will tread have already been laid before you, though you do not see them. Good night!” 

 

And with that final word the company departed to their sleeping quarters. They debated much that night, and it was plain that much of them wanted to travel to Minas Tirith to escape a little while the terror and horrendous gaze of the Enemy. It seemed to Faramir that everyone was willing to follow their leader into Mordor, but of it Frodo spoke no word, and Aragorn was lost in thought. 

 

“I shall go to Minas Tirith alone, if need be.” Said Faramir, and from then on he was silent. He was pondering their options. “To go to Minas Tirith is logical, but it would be folly to throw our lives away without completing our Quest. It would be dangerous to come too close to Mordor unaided. With supplies and help we could lessen the burden that the Ringbearer has… “ Faramir said quietly. He looked up sharply, and realized he was speaking his thoughts aloud. “It is a choice between walking defenseless into a place of death and going  _ with _ aid.” He said quickly, “At least, that is how I see it.” Faramir added. Frodo looked at him suspiciously, and Faramir gulped. He had not meant any offense to his friend. The others seemed to consider what he said, but Aragorn just looked disappointed in him.

 

In the morning the company rose and gathered what few supplies had been salvaged from their flight from Moria. Elves that could speak common came and delivered generous helpings of food and clothing for the journey, since much of their own had been lost in the deep. 

 

The food, Faramir saw, was thin wafers that were browned and cream coloured in their center. He took one and eyed it with interest whilst Gimli looked upon it with a doubtful gaze. 

 

“ _ Cram. _ ” The dwarf said under his breath. Faramir watched Gimli break off a corner and eat it cautiously, before he devoured the rest in a relishing action. 

 

“No more! No more!” Laughed the Elves, and Faramir looked with wonder at the flat cake in his hands. Not heeding Gimli’s conversation, he broke a corner off for himself and nibbled it tentatively. 

 

“ _ Lembas! _ ” He cried suddenly. 

 

“Yes!” Said the Elves cheerfully, “It is our waybread, more nourishing than what Men make, and far fairer than  _ cram. _ ” 

 

“ _ Sen ar ara ant! _ ” Faramir said. “Just think, Gimli, this recipe could mean we will eat the same waybread given to Beleg Cúthalion and made by Melian in the First Age!” 

 

Gimli nodded and pretended he understood what Faramir had just said. “At any rate, this is good food. Better, I’d say, than the honey cakes made by the Beornings.” Gimli turned to the Elves, “You are kindly hosts. Thank you.” 

 

The Elves nodded, “All the same, we bid you spare the food,” They said, “Eat little at a time and only at need. These things are given only to serve when all else fails. Keep them wrapped in their leaves for they will stay sweeter still. The  _ lembas  _ will keep a traveller on his feet for a day of long labour, even if he is one of the tall Men of Minas Tirith.” Then the Elves unwrapped and gave each of the Fellowship the clothes they had brought. 

 

Faramir took his in hand: it was a hood and cloak, light and warm, and he could not discern the exact colour of the cloth. Was it grey as morning mist, or the colour of lilac and twilight under the  _ mallorn  _ filled sky? He could not really tell nor did he really want to know. The cloak was fastened around the neck with a leaf of green, veined with silver. 

 

“Are these magic cloaks?” Asked Pippin. Faramir saw him gazing at the fabric in wonder. Faramir wondered if indeed they were magic cloaks after all, for they did seem other-worldly. 

 

“I do not know what you mean by that,” Answered the leader of the Elves. “They are fair garments made in this land. They are of Elvish make- if that is what you mean- and they are garments, not armour. They are light to wear and warm or cool enough at need. You will find that they aid greatly to keeping out of sight of unfriendly eyes, whether you walk among stones or trees. You are indeed in high favour of the Lady! For she herself and her maidens wove it; and never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our people.” 

 

After their morning meal the company said goodbye to the lawn by the fountain. Faramir’s heart was heavy, for though much grief had caught up with him in the grass, the land had still brought him peace of mind. Soon they met up once again with Haldir who proclaimed he was to be their guide again. He led them South, through Caras Galadhon where fair elvish voices sang, to the white bridge, and finally, after turning Southwards and Eastwards many times, to the shores of the River. 

 

On the bank of the Silverlode rested many boats and barges. They were painted in fair pastels and Faramir saw the Great River’s waters rolling against the boats calmly. Three small boats had been made ready for the Fellowship, and in these their goods were stowed, along with slender coiled rope. 

 

“What are these?” Asked Sam as he picked up the silver coil from the closest boat. 

 

Faramir laughed happily for the first time in days: “That is rope, Sam. Or do they not have it in your fair country?” 

 

“Ropes indeed!” Said one of the Elves from the boat, “Never travel without rope! And one that is strong and light. Such are these. They may be a help in many needs.” 

 

Faramir nudged Sam with his elbow, “That is good advice, you should heed it.” 

 

“You don’t need to tell me that!” Said Sam, “I came without any, and I’ve been worried ever since. But I was wondering what these were made of, knowing a bit about rope-making: it’s in the family as you might say.” 

 

“They are made of  _ hithlain,”  _ Said the Elf, “But there is no time to instruct you in the art of their making. Had we known this craft delighted you, we could have taught you much. But alas! Unless you return, you must remain content with just the gift. May it serve you well!” 

 

Haldir then came again, and the company arranged themselves into their boats as such: Faramir, Merry, and Pippin in one boat, Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam in another, and finally Legolas and Gimli, who had become fast friends. When all was ready Aragorn led the group on a trial up the Silverlode. The current was slow, and they went forward gradually. Faramir watched the sun glittering on the water, and the golden leaves that floated on its dark surface. 

 

When they turned a sharp bend on the River, Faramir saw a swan of great size, but it was in fact the vessel of Celeborn and Galadriel, and it was adorned with yellow stones and great wooden wings that keep it sailing smoothly in the water. Galadriel stood behind Celeborn, with a circlet of golden flowers in her hair, in her hand she held a harp, and she sang a sad and sweet song in the cold air:

 

_ I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew: _

_ Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew. _

 

When she was finished the world seemed quiet, and Faramir felt a peace in his heart he had not felt for some time. They stayed their boats alongside the Swan-ship and the Lady greeted them: “We have come to bid our farewell,” She said, “And to speed you with blessings from our land.” 

 

“Though you have been guests,” Said Lord Celeborn, “You have neither eaten nor drank with us, and we bid you, therefore, to a parting feast, here between the flowing water that will bear you from Lórien” So, at the end of Egladil, the parting feast was held. The sun shone bright and the wine was sweet. 

 

When all was eaten and drank Celeborn stood above them and said: “As you go down the water, you will find that trees become scarce and there will be none but barren country. The River flows swiftly in stony vales amid high moors, until at last it comes to the tall isle of Tol Brandir. It casts its wide arms about the steep shores and comes crashing down over the cataracts of Rauros into the Nindalf -  Wetwang in your tongue. That is the wide region of sluggish fen in which the stream becomes tortuous and divided. There the Entwash flows from many mouths into the Forest of Fangorn in the West. About the stream, on this side of the Great River, lies Rohan. On the further side are the bleak hills of Emyn Muil. The wind blows East there, for they look out over the Dead Marshes and Noman-lands to Cirith Gorgor and the black gates of Mordor. 

 

“Faramir, and any that go with him seeking Minas Tirith, will do well to leave the Great River above Rauros and cross the Entwash before it finds the marshes. Yet, do not risk going far North, for you may become ensnared in the Forest of Fangorn. It is a strange land, and even we of the First Kindred know few of its secrets. You would do well to avoid that place, but Faramir and Aragorn doubtless do not need this warning.” 

 

“Indeed we have heard of Fangorn in Minas Tirith,” Said Faramir, “It is a mysterious place and many wives’ tales center around its very being. The Forest lies near our borders, that is true, but need has not driven us there in many years of Men, so the Forest is left in peace. I made way down South through the Gap of Rohan when I travelled as a messenger and seldom went North. But, I do not doubt I will find a way through Rohan, or Fangorn if need be.” 

 

“Then I need say no more,” Said Celeborn. “But do not forsake your wives’ tales yet, for old wives keep in their memories what once was for the wise to know.” 

 

Now Galadriel rose from the grass and gave a wooden cup filled with white mead to Celeborn. “Now is time to drink the cup of farewell,” She said, “Drink, Lord of the Galadhrim! And let not your heart be sad, though night must follow noon, and already our evening draweth nigh.” Then she had each of the company drink from the cup, the mead was sweet like honey and smooth as milk. After everyone had drank, Galadriel sat once more upon the grass and spoke again: “We have drunk the cup of parting and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts with which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlórien.” She called them each in turn. 

 

Faramir waited silently, picking at the grass as Aragorn walked to the Lady and received his gift. She turned to Faramir: “Here is the gift of Celeborn and Galadriel to Faramir of Minas Tirith,” She said, and gave him a golden belt that was gilded with small metal vines and flowers.

 

To each of the Fellowship she gave a token, and when all was given the Lady arose and Celeborn led them back to the water where all was made ready. The company took their places in the boats as before and listened to the Elves of Lórien crying farewell in the sunlight. The rippling waters bore them away slowly, and Faramir turned and watched the Lady Galadriel and Lórien slip away, like the wisps of a dream. 

 

Even as he gazed, the Silverlode passed out into the currents of the Great River and their boats began to slink Southward. Soon the bright form of the Lady was small and distant and Faramir saw her arms lift to the sky, and heard her voice rise clear in Elvish words long forgotten by loremasters of Men.

_ Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,_ __  
_yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!_ __  
_Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier_ __  
_mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva_ __  
_Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar_ __  
_nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni_ __  
_ómaryo airetári-lírinen._ __  
__  
_Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?_ __  
__  
_An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo_ __  
_ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,_ __  
_ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;_ __  
_ar sindanóriello caita mornië_ __  
_i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië_ __  
_untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë._ __  
_Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!_ __  
__  
_Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar._ _  
_ ___Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!_

__

 

Suddenly, the River swept round a bend, and the Light of Lórien was hidden. Of the fair land, Faramir could see no more and his heart was heavy with its passing. 

 

He turned forward, tears shining in his eyes, and focused on the journey ahead. 

  
  
  


The Fellowship went on their long way Southwards, and Faramir saw the bare woods that stood upon banks on either side. The day grew dark and cold, and the stars were hidden by clouds, but they continued floating on. The travelling was tiresome, cold and wet, and for three days Faramir saw no change to trees, until at last they thinned and failed altogether. 

 

“We have come to the Brown Lands, and with no sign of the Enemy yet. What luck!” Thought Faramir as they sailed along. 

 

“There are no signs of living things…” Said Faramir, paddling steadily. 

 

“Yes,” Merry said from behind, “Not that I can see, just rocks and grass for miles. You’d think we’d see a buck or rather at some point.”

 

“Ah, but there are birds, I forget.” Said Faramir, looking to the sky. 

 

“Yes, but the birds fly high in the clouds and laugh at us down below.” Said Pippin, “Therefore, they do not count.” 

 

“The Seagull is an honoured bird in Gondor.” Said Faramir, “We craft our helmets in their shape in reverence to Elwing who bore the first of our Kings who resided in Númenórë: Elros Tar-Minyatur was his name. But, the sea and the bird has always had a tie to the great kingdoms of Men in the West. For Tar-Anárion was a great ship builder who was friends to Círdan the Shipwright of old. But, this lore is very old, and only I and few others know of it now, for the knowledge of our history has been lost to the past, among other things…” Faramir looked to Aragorn’s boat silently. 

 

“Well, that's all and good but I still say the birds don’t count.” Said Pippin and Faramir could imagine him crossing his arms. 

 

“Look, swans!” Said Merry, “They’re black… Why is everything in this country so mournful and empty? Not even the birds are cheerful!” 

 

Faramir looked up and saw the black swans streaming across the sky and felt a keen sense of foreboding.  

 

The company continued and for the next day or two the feeling of insecurity grew within everyone in the Fellowship. The River broadened and grew more shallow, and trees began to reappear, but no one spoke. Each member was too busy in their own thoughts. 

 

Faramir kept silent and was thinking about his argument with Aragorn and the visions he had seen in the Mirror. They had not spoken since that night. 

 

“Perhaps the Enemy is twisting us somehow…” Thought Faramir, “But no, that cannot be, the Ring is safe with its bearer. So it must be us somehow… I cannot see it just yet, but I wish I could.”

 

The next day the company paddled long and hard, for through the night Frodo had noticed that Gollum was following their trail, and Aragorn wished to shake him off. They passed through high country and later as the sun was setting Legolas saw a hunting eagle. They did not start until it was completely dark. The eighth night of their journey came and it was silent and windless. Faramir looked around and felt a strong sense of foreboding. 

 

“Come,” Said Aragorn. “We will venture one more journey by night. We come now to the reaches of the River that I do not know well; for I have never journeyed by water in these parts before, not between here and the rapids of Sarn Gebir. But, if I am right in my reckoning, those are still many miles ahead. We must keep a sharp watch and paddle quickly.” 

 

The night grew dark, but Faramir saw the stars were strangely bright. The dark water reflected eerie lights onto the boats and paddles. They had been drifting for some time when Faramir heard Sam cry out. He looked around swiftly and saw that only a few yards ahead, some rapids were swirling in a fury, and jagged black rocks were visible against the dark night. 

 

“Hoy there Aragorn!” Faramir shouted as his boat bumped into the leader’s, “This is madness! We cannot dare the Rapids by night! But no boat can live in Sarn Gebir, be it night or day!” 

 

“Back, back!” Cried Aragorn, “Turn! Turn if you can!”

 

With great effort the Fellowship retreated and slowly brought the boats about. All the time they were carried closer and closer to the Eastern bank. “All together, paddle!” Shouted Faramir. “Paddle! Or we shall be driven on the shoals!” At that moment he heard a twang of bow strings: several arrows whistled over them, and one struck Frodo in the shoulder, but the arrow fell back foiled by the hobbit’s mithril coat. 

 

“ _ Yrch! _ ” Cried Legolas. 

 

“Orcs!” Yelled Gimli. 

 

“Gollum’s doing, I’ll be bound,” Said Sam as he checked Frodo’s shoulder, “And a nice place to choose, too. The River seems set on taking us right into their foul arms!” 

 

Everyone leaned forward straining with their paddles, and always it seemed arrows were soaring over their heads. Stroke by stroke they laboured on. In the darkness it was hard for Faramir to see, but slowly the swirl of the water grew less, and at last they had reached the stream again and had driven their boats some distance from the jutting rocks. Then, half turning, they came to the Western shore and hid their boats in the shadow of bushes and finally drew breath. 

 

Legolas took out his Lórien bow and sprang ashore. Faramir heard a sigh of “ _ Elbereth Gilthoniel! _ ” And a sudden hum of string, and Faramir looked up to see a dark twisted shape falling from the sky. 

 

As they led the boats upstream and rested Faramir came to Legolas as he spoke with Gimli. “What was that creature which you shot from the sky?” He asked and he took a corner from Gimli’s  _ lembas. _

 

“Who can say what I hit?” Said Legolas. 

 

“I cannot,” Said Gimli, “But I am glad the shadow came no nearer. For it reminded me of the shadow in Moria - the shadow of the Balrog,” He ended in a whisper. 

 

“It was not a Balrog,” Said Frodo, who stood shivering with chill, “It was something colder. I think it was -” He paused and fell silent. 

 

“What do you think?” Asked Faramir solemnly. 

 

“I think… No, I will not say.” Answered Frodo, “Whatever it was, its fall has dismayed our enemies.” 

 

Faramir nodded. 

 

“So it seems,” Said Aragorn coming over, “Yet where they are, and how many, and what they will do next, we do not know. This night will have to be sleepless. Keep your weapons close. For who can tell what day will bring?” 

 

The night passed silently. No voice or call was heard across the water, but Faramir was worried. He knew not what the black shape in the sky was and did not like it. 

 

Eventually day came, and with it fog. The mist from the River swathed the shore; the far bank could not be seen. 

 

“I can’t abide the fog,” Said Sam squinting in the light; “But this seems to be a lucky one. Now perhaps we can get away without those cursed goblins seeing us.” 

 

“Perhaps so,” Said Aragorn, “But it will be hard to find a path unless the fog lifts a little later on. And we must find the path, if we are to pass Sarn Gebir and come to Emyn Muil.” 

 

“I do not see why we should pass the Rapids or follow the River any further,” Said Faramir, “If the Emyn Muil lie before us, would not it make more sense to abandon the boats and strike Westward and Southward, until we come to the Entwash and cross into my own land?” 

 

“It would, if we are making for Minas Tirith,” Said Aragorn and he glowered at Faramir, “But that is  _ not yet agreed.  _ And such a course may be more perilous than it sounds; the vale of the Entwash is flat and fenny, fog is a deadly peril there and who is to say whether the cover will keep us hid from the Enemy’s eyes? I will not abandon our boats until we must. The River is at least a path that cannot be missed.” 

 

“But the Enemy holds the Eastern bank,” Faramir objected coldly, “And even if you pass the Gates of Argonath and come unmolested to the Tindrock, what will you do then? Leap down the falls and land in the marshes?” 

 

“No!” Answered Aragorn hotly, “Say rather that we will bear our boats by the ancient way to Rauros-foot, and there take to water again. Do you forget the North Stair, Faramir, and the high seat upon Amon Hen? I at least have a mind to stand in that high place again, before I decide my further course. There, maybe, we shall see some sign that will guide us.” 

 

Faramir relented, for he was not as stubborn as his brother. “It is not the way of the Men of Minas Tirith to desert their friends at need, and you will need such strength that we have. I will go to the tall isle. But no further! I shall turn home, alone if my help has not earned the reward of any companionship.” 

 

The day grew on and it was decided that Aragorn and Legolas were to go to shore and scout further. Together the two set off, and it was nearing sunset when they returned. The Fellowship continued though with toil, for they had to move their boats across land to the old portage way to follow their path. Faramir and Aragorn carried the boats across the land to the other riverside and the rest of the companions, the luggage. Finally, they carried all their luggage out to the water side and collapsed with weariness. 

 

“Well here we are,” Said Faramir, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud, “And here we must pass another night. We need sleep, and even if Aragorn had a mind to pass through the Gates of Argonath by night, we are all too tired- except, no doubt, our sturdy dwarf.” 

 

Gimli made no reply, for he was already nodding off where he stood. 

 

“Let us rest as much as we can now,” Said Aragorn. “Tomorrow we must journey by day again. For we will have a good chance of slipping by unwelcome eyes, if the weather be fair.” So came day after nightfall, and once again the Fellowship made their weary way on the River. 

 

As they travelled the River grew swifter and more narrow until at last they came to a narrow gap set between two large figures. “Behold the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings!” Cried Aragorn, “Keep the boats in line and as far apart as you can! Hold the middle of the stream!” 

 

Faramir looked around as he paddled. There to his right and left were the large figures of Men, both reaching out with one arm as if to stop oncoming enemies. Faramir’s heart was filled with wonder, and he saw that the size of just one of the stone feet was larger than their boats. He bowed his head in respect for the Kings, and felt the weight of centuries of history upon his shoulders, if only for a moment. 

 

So they passed into the dark chasm of the Gates. From behind Aragorn’s boat Faramir could hear Sam muttering: “What a place! What a horrible place! Just let me get out of this boat, and I’ll never wet my toes in a puddle again, let alone a river!” 

 

“Fear not!” Said a strange voice, and Faramir saw something he never thought to see again. Not the figure of a traveller or a Ranger, but a mighty King, and his hope was restored. A light was in Faramir’s eyes as Aragorn said: “Long have I desired to look upon the likeness of Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow Elessar, the Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur’s son, heir of Elendil, has naught to dread!” But then the visage of King’s fell from Aragorn and he was small again, and he spoke to himself: “Would that Gandalf were here! How my heart yearns for Minas Anor and the walls of my own city! But whither now shall I go?” And when saying so, Faramir finally understood Aragorn’s doubts. 

 

The sun had already fallen from noon and now rested on the shining waters of Nen Hithoel. Faramir saw an island risen from the waters of the long lake and the River wrapped its pale arms about it in a watery embrace. 

 

“Behold Tol Brandir!” Said Aragorn, and he pointed South towards its tall peak. “Upon the left stands Amon Lhaw, and upon the right is Amon Hen, the Hills of Hearing and of Sight. In the days of Kings there were high seats set upon them, and a watch was kept there. But it is said that no foot of man or beast has ever been set upon Tol Brandir. Ere shade of night falls we shall come to them. I hear the endless voice of Rauros calling.” 

 

The company rested now a while, drifting South with the current that flowed through the middle of the large lake. They ate some food and Faramir looked at the scenery, finally at peace in his mind. He had accepted it all: Aragorn’s doubt, Gandalf’s fall, and his longing for home, and he felt anew. He drew in a deep breath, and smiled broadly.

 

“The Quest will not fail.” Thought Faramir, “We will succeed.” Then he took up the paddle and hastened on. 

 

The sides of the Westward hills disappeared into shadow and the Sun grew round and red. In the dark sky stars peeked their bright faces out of the veil, and clouds moved swiftly in the breeze. The three peaks loomed as black shapes in the twilight. Rauros was roaring with a great voice that boomed in the night. Already the Moon had risen when the travellers came at last to the shadow of the great hills. The tenth day of their journey was finally over. Wilderland was behind them. They could go no further without choice between the East-way and the West. 

 

The last stage of the Quest was before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Sen ar ara ant! : "This [is a] royal gift! (Literal)"
> 
> hithlain : "Mist thread"
> 
> Galadriel's song (for listening while reading I recommend The Tolkien Ensemble's FOTR CD on Youtube or Spotify, it's the one I listened to while writing!):  
> "Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind,  
> long years numberless as the wings of trees!  
> The years have passed like swift draughts  
> of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,  
> beneath the blue vaults of Varda  
> wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly. 
> 
> Who now shall refill the cup for me? 
> 
> For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars,  
> from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,  
> and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;  
> and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us,  
> and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever.  
> Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!
> 
> Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.  
> Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!"
> 
> Yrch : Orcs
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write @wow__then)


	10. The Breaking of the Fellowship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship are assailed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Mark says in RENT: "Here on in, I shoot without a script  
> See if anything comes of it, instead of my old shit" Here marks the final TRUE deviation in which now barely any text will be taken from source in an attempt to truly deviate from the canon. Also this chapter marks the end of FOTR, thank you for following Faramir this far, we've still got a lot to cover. Thank you for reading! Please comment! :-D

They came soon to the right arm of the River, and upon the Western side Faramir could see the long shadow of Tol Brandir blanketing a grassy lawn that ran from Amon Hen to the water’s banks. Behind it lay the gentle slopes of tree-clad hills which curved away Westward with gentle slopes and trees like tall shafts of many spears. 

 

“Here we will rest tonight,” said Aragorn. “This is the lawn of Parth Galen: a fair place in the summer days of old. Let us hope that no evil has yet to come here.” 

 

They brought their boats onto the green banks and beside them made their small camp. The Sun closed her weary eyes and came to rest beyond the horizon, but Faramir could not sleep. He wished to apologize to Aragorn: “But how?” Thought he, “I have done him great offense, that much is certain… I had forgotten the Lady Galadriel’s words. 

 

‘ _ Doubt and fear will be your enemy. Do not forsake what you have come to claim’  _ that is what she told me, but yet, not just myself but all could be lost already… I have lost my claim to their friendship, I am no good to them now, grieving for too many things to count... I am no good to Aragorn either for he sees no strength in me. Oh, what am I to do!” 

 

Trying to block away despair, Faramir squeezed his eyes shut and luckily the release of sleep unburdened him for a little while. 

 

The day came and with it syrup-like, gold sunlight that tipped the summit of Tol Brandir. It was a beautiful morning. 

 

When they had eaten, Aragorn called the Fellowship together: “The day has come at last for the choice that has long been delayed. What shall become of our Company, which has travelled so long in fellowship? Shall we turn West with Faramir and come to the wars and white walls of Gondor; or turn East to the Fear and Shadow of the Enemy, or shall we break our Fellowship and go on paths of our own choosing? Whatever we do must be done soon. We cannot long halt here. The enemy is on the Eastern shore, but I fear Orcs may already be on this side of the water.” 

 

There was a long silence, and no one spoke or moved. 

 

Aragorn sighed. “Well, Frodo,” He said, “I fear we lay the burden upon you. You are the Bearer appointed by the Council. Your own way you alone can choose. In this matter, I cannot advise you, for I am not Gandalf, and though I have tried to bear his part I do not know what design he had for this hour or whether he had one at all. Most likely it seems he would leave the choice to you. Such is your fate.” 

 

Frodo did not answer at once, and Faramir looked to the sky. “What can he do?” He thought, “Oh! That I could shield him from this evil he has sworn to bear! But, it is not my place; if he must decide alone then his fate is to be alone, though I loathe to think it so. Let us hope Sam will go with him at least, for he of all of us could keep Frodo safe, I think.” 

 

Frodo glanced around and spoke slowly: “I know that haste is needed, yet I cannot choose at this very moment. The burden is heavy. Give me an hour longer, and I will speak. Let me be alone!” 

 

Faramir saw Aragorn’s features overcome with kindly pity, and he felt a great sorrow in his heart, “Very well, Frodo son of Drogo,” Said Aragorn, “You shall have an hour, and you shall be alone. But stay close! For Gimli, Legolas, and I will go to scout the trees, and you will not be heard by most if you stray or call.” Then Frodo got up and walked away, and Faramir watched him go solemnly. 

 

Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas took up their weapons and got ready to leave, and Aragorn turned to Faramir and clasped his shoulder. “We will not be gone long.” Said Aragorn. 

 

Faramir nodded. All his apologies were welling up in his throat but refused to release; instead he said: “If we are assailed I will call upon my Horn.” 

 

Aragorn nodded and before he turned to the Dwarf and Elf he said, “Let us hope it does not come to that.” The three were soon gone. 

 

Faramir stared at the ground, the small camp was silent, no one - not even Pippin - seemed in the mood to speak. Faramir got up and walked away from the camp; he refused to let this foul mood fester in his heart, not after he had finally come to dispel his own dread. As he walked, he checked that his Horn and sword still remained by his hip, and he glanced back to make sure not to travel too far. Absentmindedly he walked as he checked behind him. 

 

“Faramir?” Asked a voice, and Faramir turned around sharply. It was Frodo, and he sat alone on a large rock, his face a mixture of suspicion and confusion. 

 

Faramir cleared his throat awkwardly, “Forgive me, Frodo. The camp remains in a solemn mood and I wished to get away for a bit.” 

 

“I too…” Said Frodo, he got up and came to Faramir slowly. “I suppose you came to convince me of your plight as well? It is fruitless if so, for I do not think any speech would help me, and I have made my mind up, though I am afraid of the path I have chosen.” 

 

“No!” Said Faramir, kneeling down to clasp his hands over the hobbit’s small shoulders, “I came for no such purpose. I see the wisdom in your eyes and I sense you feel a warning in your heart. No… I came here not to convince you of my path, for it is my path to follow. I wandered here only to lighten my step.” 

 

Rauros roared and the wind whispered softly in their ears. Frodo shivered. “I will trust your words…” Frodo said quietly, “For I see the same fear in your eyes that I obtain.” 

 

Faramir looked away sadly. “My people will soon come to ruin.” He said softly, “And I wish to protect them, and you, and our Fellowship. But I have seen it, we are coming undone like a woven tapestry, already the strings begin to fray and wither. Soon we will break apart like glass, and only the shards of our deeds will remain. What will become of the Fellowship, if we all depart?” 

 

“I do not know…” Said Frodo, “I wish it was not so, but we cannot keep our company forever. This is why I must go alone to Mordor.” 

 

Faramir looked at Frodo, “Go not alone into that black pit, take me, or Sam!” 

 

“But your road is to Minas Tirith: to Gondor, your home. My home lies North, and remains far and unreachable.” Said Frodo, and he shrugged off Faramir’s hands and turned away from him. 

 

“I see,” Said Faramir, “Then, at least take Sam. You know he will not forsake you.” 

 

There was silence, and Faramir saw the ghost of a nod. 

 

“Then it is decided.” Faramir said quietly. 

 

“What’s decided, Master Frodo?” 

 

Faramir started and spun around. He had not heard them, but Merry, Pippin, and Sam all stood watching him. “Our course.” Said Faramir, and he felt to his Horn before he asked: “Why did you leave camp?” 

 

“Because you did.” Said Merry flatly. 

 

“And we also became bored rather quickly.” Said Pippin, “You should have said something when you left, Faramir.” 

 

Faramir stared at the hobbits. It was so absurd, and yet, they were his friends, he should have expected as such. He laughed, “Forgive me, my friends, my mind was in a dark place and I sook to cleanse it. But, all is well.” He looked back to Frodo and smiled sorrowfully, “I think we have all made up our minds.” 

 

Merry snorted, “ _ Have  _ you? Very well then. Frodo! Come here! There’s no use moping by yourself, already our Men do it, there no use for three to act morosely.” 

 

Frodo chuckled and joined the four, “And what would you have me do: to dispel this ‘morose mood’?” 

 

“Why, eat something, Mister Frodo,” Said Sam, “We’ve had naught but one breakfast today, and you’re lookin’ mighty tired.” 

 

Faramir laughed, “Hobbits and their appetites! But wait, I heard tell from Aragorn a long time ago that you eat up to eight meals a day? How can that be? For you are such small creatures.” 

 

Merry looked from Pippin and Sam to Faramir, “Now you’ve done it Faramir, don’t even get Pippin started, he can talk for days about our meals. Now, I love meals as much as the next hobbit, but the real treat of the Shire is our pipe-weed! Longbottom leaf, Old Toby! We shared some a while ago, and I know you enjoyed it!” 

 

Faramir smiled broadly, “Of course, I have tried your leaf, and you mine. What did you think, if I may ask, of my leaf? You never did tell me.” 

 

“Merry, you still had Old Toby left?” Asked Frodo.

 

“And you didn’t share?” Cried Sam. 

 

Pippin looked amused. 

 

“Anyway…” Merry looked at Sam flatly, “I thought your leaf was fine, not like Old Toby, of course but -” An arrow whistled past Merry’s eyes and lodged itself into a tree. 

 

In the five’s amusement they had not heard the cries of Orcs and the quiet rustle of their feet on the dried leaves. Faramir turned sharply and saw about five poised to attack, and heard the heavy tread of feet indicating more of the enemy. He thrust his right arm out to protect them and took hold of his sword. The Orcs continued and arrows sailed through the air. Suddenly, one hit his shoulder. 

 

Faramir felt the sharp pain in his arm and broke the shaft, accidently lodging it further into his skin. He looked back at the hobbits, his friends. Sheer terror reflected in their eyes. 

 

“Frodo, go.” He whispered earnestly. He turned back and ran forward, bringing his sword high. The Orcs came at him at once, and others kept coming, shooting their arrows towards the hobbits who were desperately grabbing at rocks and throwing them at their assailants. Faramir slew two and kept fighting, though his shoulder pained him greatly. 

 

“Run!” He cried, and slashed at the chest of a particularly burly female Orc. She kicked him soundly and stabbed his left foot. Faramir cried out, and rolled to his side just in time to avoid the scimitar that thunked to the ground. He staggered upwards and kept fighting, and suddenly, he remembered the Horn! His right hand fumbled to grab the Horn as he fought with his left, and quickly, he retrieved it, and blew long and hard. The Horn’s call echoed in the forest, a brighter sound than in Moria. Again and again he blew, until his breath came in ragged gasps, then he continued. 

 

He slew five more and spared a quick look back; Merry and Pippin were hurling rocks at the Orcs, but Frodo and Sam were nowhere to be seen! He looked around wildly and saw the tufts of their heads behind a faraway tree. 

 

He turned and beheaded another Orc. His foot and shoulder pained him deeply, but he did not relent. One Orc that wasn’t firing arrows leaped at him and punched his face, breaking his nose. Blood gushed from his nostrils, and Faramir could feel a puffing around his eyes. He ran the Orc through with his sword, which was now soaked in black blood. He slew nine more, but the Orcs kept coming, and Faramir was getting tired. His limbs were heavy and his head began to pound loudly. 

 

Suddenly, there was a cry: “Faramir!” 

 

Merry and Pippin were being advanced upon by two large, dark Orcs. The hobbits unsheathed their daggers and stabbed at the large creatures legs, but only wounding them slightly. Faramir rushed forward with all his strength and ran his sword through one of the Orc’s calf. But it was to no avail, as the sword slipped out, the Orcs grabbed Merry and Pippin and made their escape. 

 

“No!” Faramir cried out, and ran after the hobbits desperately. His sword rang and clashed with the Orc scimitars as Merry and Pippin became smaller and smaller in the distance. Faramir was fighting with all his strength, sweat poured down his brow and his breath was great and heaving. Heavily, he stabbed another Orc. 

 

Suddenly, he was struck in the back of the head, and with a cry, Faramir fell to the forest floor. His vision became black, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write @wow__then)


	11. In the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Two Towers begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember in the general summary where it says that it will be in Faramir AND Boromir's POV? Haha well, sorry friends, you don't get to know if Faramir is alive just yet. Thank you for reading! Please comment!

Boromir watched Faramir ride North into the distance. His brother never looked back. Boromir sighed and leaned against the high white gate of Minas Tirith. His hand caressed the carven stone, feeling every detail and nick in its worn, pearl-coloured marble block. He made no sign that he was worried except for a small frown and his tired eyes. Boromir closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned back inside the city. 

 

“I must not worry overmuch,” he thought, but he already knew he could not stop himself from doing so. “ _ Pîn gwador _ will be fine.” He assured himself. 

 

As Boromir walked briskly through the high courtyard that made up the front of the first tier of defence he checked that his sword remained at his hip, and it felt strange not to brush the Horn of Gondor as well, but that was gone with Faramir. “He needs it more than I,” Thought Boromir as he walked up the steep way to the second tier, commonly used for the peasant market. “It is well enough that I gave it to him, though Father will not be pleased…” 

 

His pace slowed as he considered how Denethor might react. “Ah,” He thought, “It is better just to deal with what comes, it will come up when it does.” Boromir did not have to see his Father all day until reports of defense were to be delivered. He decided that Denethor could wait a few hours to discover the pride of the Steward’s House had left its home with  _ i tadui hanar, _ instead of  _ i erui hanar.  _

 

So Boromir kept walking, until at last he came to the third tier where the city guard was housed. He entered the wide, stone house where the Men slept and found Beregond with Celeglim carving wood into the shape of a twisted tree. Celeglim was talking excitedly about what seemed to Boromir to be two magical trees that once gave light and time. 

 

“Now, Telperion was said to be silver and shined with radiance more beautiful than the full moon on a clear night.” Celeglim pointed to some of the vines that snaked up the side of the carven bark. “I wished to make it as real as I pictured it, for my young Iavas. She wishes to learn much of the old histories.” 

 

Beregond smiled and nodded to his friend, “Yes, my Beregil is much the same, though he pleads to know the ways of the guard. In fact - Ah! Lord Boromir! Good to see you!” The two Men finally noticed Boromir’s presence and bowed their heads slightly. 

 

“Please,” Said Boromir, he searched around the room and found a stool, dragging it close to where the two cradled the tree in their arms, “Do not let me interrupt. Your children sound wonderful.” 

 

Celeglim nodded, his eyes shining, “Yes! My Iavas is not only well-trained in sewing and cookery but with the sword and wit as well -” Beregond elbowed him in the ribs. “I mean - Thank you Lord Boromir, your flattery is too kind.” 

 

“Indeed it  _ is. _ ” Said Beregond, sending Celeglim a look. 

 

Boromir laughed heartily. “Do not worry yourselves over formalities! We are  _ gwedeir _ , are we not? Call me not ‘Lord’ in this house, for not even my Father is Lord over you. He is Steward, ‘tis as simple as that.” 

 

Beregond smiled, “Alright…  Now, my Beregil is a tall one. I sometimes worry he will attempt to find a way to grow out of his boots faster than he does as of now! My wife and I keep having to tailor his breeches and darn his socks when holes appear - and mind you, the holes are as obvious as the large, seagull-crested guard helmets of the White Tree of Gondor, and not as scarce!” 

 

“Nay! Say ‘tis not so!” Said Celeglim, his eyes wide, “Oh, I shall thank Eru everyday for my daughter, she grows round and beautiful, not willowy and sharp like your boy. To darn socks _ that  _ often… That is a sure feat!” 

 

“Indeed!” Said Boromir, and he clapped Beregond on the back soundly, “I cannot imagine it… That must be many a spool of yarn lost. Ah, my friend, your son robs you of your materials!” 

 

“Alas, indeed,” Said Beregond, but he still smiled, “But, I love him, what more can I do than provide?” 

 

“Truer words have not been spoken!” Cried Celeglim, who stood suddenly, clutching the finished Telperion model. “I must do it now, I must gift this and Laurelin to my Iavas! Seek for my return, I will not tarry long!” With the final word the man sped out of the stone house. 

 

“You love your children well.” Said Boromir, he sat up slowly, “It would do you well to cherish them. But now, it seems our revels are ended, and we must come to why I am here.” 

 

Beregond nodded and stood quickly, “You wish to collect the defense reports?” 

 

“I must.” Said Boromir and he sighed, “I wish to lessen your burden Beregond, for I know you have overtaken most of my brother’s duties.” 

 

Beregond shook his head and looked at Boromir, “No, Boromir, ‘tis my love for Lord Faramir that drives me, and I can handle the extra duties, it is not as if we have received much warning of the Enemy as of late.” 

 

“And yet…” Boromir followed Beregond out of the stone house and looked towards the foreboding East, “I worry that we will not be ready. You are slogged with work, and I now must command our Rangers… There is so much to be done in the months ahead, and who knows when my brother will return…” 

 

Beregond patted Boromir on the back, “He will be fine. He is wise, and humble, though I worry that Lord Faramir may have too large a heart.” Said Beregond. 

 

“I fear he cares too much, and that will bring about his downfall…” Said Boromir quietly. “Oh, little brother, where have you gone? I look towards the horizon, and yet I find no rest when you are not here. How will you fare on your own?” The question was a ghost of a whisper, and none could answer it yet. 

 

Beregond and Boromir walked farther down the street and reached the outer defense chamber. Beregond collected many rolls of parchment and handed the bundle to Boromir. “Here they are.” The guardsman said, “Deliver them to the Steward and review it with him.” Boromir nodded and made to leave. “Boromir.” He turned. “Faramir will be alright.” Said Beregond. 

 

Boromir turned towards the door: “Let us hope you are correct.” 

 

Hebegan his long trek to the Citadel, carrying his burden in one arm. Occasionally, a man or woman of the Guard would nod or bow their heads as he passed. Boromir finally reached the courtyard that housed the White Tree and paused; he had a headache. He walked up to the Tree and looked at its twisting branches. There was no bloom or bud in sight. 

 

“It is folly,” Thought he, “Maybe it will be better for no King to come at all…” 

 

Boromir walked past the Tree to the tall doors of the Citadel and did not look back. The great oak doors opened soundlessly and Boromir’s heels clicked on the marble tile as he walked toward the low stone throne that sat in the shadow of the King’s empty seat. In it sat Denethor, hunched over a wooden table with strewn about papers; he was muttering to himself. Boromir stopped before his Father. 

 

There was silence. 

 

“He is gone then?” Asked Denethor. He did not look up from his task. 

 

“Father, if you mean Faramir, then yes, he has gone. I noticed you did not see him off.” 

 

Denethor looked up sharply at Boromir, “There was no need. Ah, I see you have the defense reports. Come. Bring them here.” 

 

Boromir came closer and placed the papers gently on the table. “Father, you must rest.” Said Boromir softly, seeing the lines of strain about Denethor’s eyes. 

 

“No.” Said Denethor sternly, he pointed to some tight scrawl and grabbed a map of the White City. “Here, on the South side: our water reserves.” He grabbed a wooden pen and dipped it into an inkwell, circling the water bodies. “The Guard reports we must strengthen defense there. Without water we will die like mayflies in the heat.” 

 

Boromir nodded, “My men will see to it.” 

 

“Good.” Said Denethor, and the old man turned to Boromir, looking him over. Boromir felt his Father’s eyes searching for something. “You have given it away.” 

 

Confused, Boromir said nothing. 

 

“The Horn of Gondor, the heirloom of our house.  _ You have given it away. _ ” Denethor was seething with rage: the wooden pen was crushing in his tight grip, and ink dripped from his fist like thick blood. 

 

Boromir stared at Denethor, surprised by his anger. “With just purpose!” Said Boromir, “Faramir will need it more than I, for he is the one away on a task that you gave leave for him to follow!” 

 

“And I wish now that I had not given him my word!” Suddenly, Denethor stood, “That foolish child deserves it not.” 

 

“Father!” Cried Boromir, “Do not say such things! He is my brother!” 

 

“Yes, but he is no son of mine! Taking what is rightfully yours… He is a betrayer! A miserable cur as such I should have seen. He is no more deserving of the Horn than he is of leadership!” 

 

Boromir backed away. “ _ How  _ can you  _ say  _ such things? He is  _ your son. _ ” 

 

Denethor looked at Boromir coldly, “It is the truth.” 

 

“But Father, he is an honourable man! A Captain of our Rangers, a leader of our people!”

 

“NO.” Said Denethor, “Now get out of my sight. I have work to be done.” 

 

Boromir opened his mouth to speak once more, but closed it and walked silently out of the chamber. As soon as he was past the doors Boromir sped his pace and ran to the terrace overlooking the White City, his city. When he reached the granite wall he slammed his fists upon the rock and stared outward at the dark landscape. He felt like a young boy again. He could not believe his Father’s words. 

 

“He cannot mean it.” Thought Boromir, “He  _ cannot _ . _ ”  _

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and recalled his mother’s old lullaby. Quietly, he sang the simple words to himself:

 

_ To sleep, to sleep, my child fair _

_ Beneath the sky’s misty air _

_ The foam is white _

_ The waves, they rise _

_ The light swan flies _

_ The great seagull cries _

_ To bed, to bed, my child fair _

_ In Dol Amroth _

_ Belfalas’ sweet care _

 

Boromir opened his eyes slowly and looked out to the mountain range where Mordor loomed in the distance. He turned from the wall, uncurling his fists, and walked to the White Tree’s lawn. He spared a glance at the tree: nothing. 

 

Boromir walked and walked until he reached the third tier of the city. Most of the Guard were already abed in the stone quarters. Boromir dropped with a loud thunk onto his cot. He stared at the roof of the chamber. A wave of worry for Faramir struck Boromir in the dark. Boromir shut his eyes and hummed the lullaby softly. 

 

“Faramir will be fine,” He thought. 

 

But, deep in his heart, he was not so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Pîn gwador : "Little brother (Literal)"
> 
> i tadui hanar : "The second son (Literal)"
> 
> i erui hanar : "The first son (Literal)"
> 
> Celeglim : "Agile-clear (Literal)" The name was thought to bring safety and purity and was most popular in TA 2980
> 
> Iavas : "Autumn (Literal)" Flower and Seasonal names were more common in the First Age but Celeglim is a traditionalist and favours the history of his people
> 
> gwedeir : "Brothers (Used in the context of 'Brothers in Arms' meaning, not related by blood)"
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write @wow__then)


	12. An Unhappy Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several months go by with Boromir avoiding his Father, until something is heard and discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my best friend Dani (@girlofshadowsandstars) who is the light of my life and also the bane of my existence <3 Faramir may make a return in the next chapter,, but I won't spoil anything. ;;--) Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment!

Over several months Boromir worked closely with the guard. He walked their rounds and drank their mead. They had started to organize minor contests for sport when others were off-duty. Boromir had started training with them as well, he seldom had time to himself. Which was a good thing, for his thoughts ever turned to Faramir’s well-being and his Father’s harsh words.

 

Boromir had been avoiding his Father. He stared at the sword he was sharpening at the grindstone. The grating sound of metal on stone was making it hard to think. He stopped and sat back on his stool. It was true that he was avoiding Denethor. After their spat Boromir had not the heart to ask again, and now he only came to his Father when need granted it. They would discuss defense plans and battle strategy, and the Boromir would be sent away, to attend to a wall or instruct his men further.

 

“I must do something…” He thought, he sheathed his sword and looked around the smithy. There were few of the guard about, but he could hear the hearty laughs of men and women some ways away. “They must be training.” Boromir thought, and he decided not to disturb them.

 

He strode out of the smithy and onto the cobbled stones of the fourth tier. The air was crisp and fine for winter finally had begun to melt away into greener things. Boromir walked slowly down to the third tier, taking his time to enjoy the warm sun and cool breeze.

 

About halfway down Boromir descried Celeglim, his husband, and their daughter Iavas walking hand in hand. “He must be off-duty.” Boromir thought. He did not want to intrude; the guard received precious few days to themselves in the recent weeks and he suspected that his Father would only harden his heart and increase the workload. He kept walking, but -

 

“Ah! Boromir!” Said Celeglim, coming over to where he stood. “You never met my husband, correct?”

 

Boromir smiled down at Iavas and looked up to Celeglim. “No, I have not.” He said. He shook hands with the other man. “But, I have heard many a doting tale. Palanarth, is your name. If I am not mistaken?”

 

“Aye,” Said Palanarth and he ruffled Iavas’ hair, “It is a great honour to meet you at last, Lord Boromir. My husband speaks highly of you.”

 

Boromir laughed, “I suppose he only praises my tolerance of ale! And good sir, call me not Lord.” Boromir bent down on one knee and smiled at Iavas. “Hello there,” He said, and Iavas backed away unsurely. “‘Tis alright,” He chuckled, “I do not bite.”

 

Iavas, came close and took Boromir’s hand, shaking it like her father did.

 

“I have heard you like history.” Said Boromir, “Any tales in particular?”

 

Iavas nodded enthusiastically. “Aldarion and Erendis!” She said, and tugged on her Celeglim’s sleeve, “Papa told me it! Come Papa, tell him about the Mariner King and his Wife!”

 

Celeglim chuckled, “Now Iavas, Boromir does not have time for such a long story, besides, I believe he has duties of his own. Just because you Father and I are off-duty does not mean he is. Am I correct?”

 

“Sadly, so.” Said Boromir, he nodded to Iavas, “Perhaps next time, little one, and perhaps _you_ could tell me the story yourself.”

 

Iavas nodded and smiled brightly.

 

“Farewell!” Said Palanarth, he took Iavas’ hand and the family began on their way once more.

 

Boromir walked down the cobbled street and finally reached the first tier guard house. It was tucked away in the corner of the great courtyard that lay in front of the city’s entrance. Boromir entered the house and took formal guard position by the door until an officer came towards him.

 

“Boromir, sire, you are needed in routine defense of the outer rim.”

 

He nodded, “Who is my second?”

 

“Addagnir, sire.” Said the officer.

 

“Good. Tell him I will meet him by the gate,” Said Boromir, and he went to the back to put on armour. He met Addagnir, just as he said, by the gate, along with another pair; the four guards split up their groups and walked about the outer wall of Minas Tirith. Many hours Boromir walked by the wall, never faltering or taking a break. Soon, it was about high noon, and the breeze whipped in his ears.

 

Boromir was observing the Western wall when he heard a cry: “The Horn Call of Gondor!” It was Addagnir, he ran to meet Boromir, and paused gasping for breath. “I have heard it!” He said, and he grasped Boromir’s shoulder for support. “I have heard the call of our ruling house.”

 

Boromir’s insides felt twisted. “Are you sure?” He asked, but it came out like a whisper.

 

Addagnir nodded.

 

“Oh, where are you Faramir? Lost in the wood? Suffering? Dead? I pray not.” Thought Boromir worriedly. “Where did you hear this sound?” Said Boromir, as he tried to remain calm.

 

“Northwest, sire.” Said Addagnir, “I heard it clear as a bell, like it was carried by the wind!”

 

Boromir looked Northwest and took a breath. He would not ignore this, but he knew it meant that he’d have to speak with Father. “Send someone out to search the area, the Anduin perhaps. Find something.” Addagnir nodded solemnly.

 

Boromir continued his rounds until dark.

 

The next two days were tiresome and full of papers that needed to be signed or written. It was almost dusk when Boromir finally made his way to the Citadel again.

 

He glanced at the White Tree. “Brother, were you protecting this?” He thought miserably, “An old tree without bloom… Where have you gone, Faramir, so far into the wild where none can protect you.”

 

Boromir shook off his doubt, Faramir was Captain of the Rangers. “He is fine.” He repeated the phrase throughout his head as he reached the tall doors of the Citadel and walked down the hall to Denethor’s seat.

 

The Steward seemed shrunken and older than when Boromir had seen him last. It was understandable, seeing that they had avoided each other for months, but it struck Boromir that his Father seemed hollow. Denethor was clutching something in his withered hands, raging grief was behind his eyes.

 

“Is that?” Boromir started, but he found his voice lost.

 

Denethor looked up slowly to his elder son. “Yes. The Horn of Gondor, cleaved in two.” His voice hitched. “They found it yesterday floating down a stream. Nothing else. Just the Horn…”

 

Boromir saw Denethor’s hands tighten around the split pieces. Boromir closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. “He is dead then?” He asked, clenching his fists.

 

“Yes.” Denethor said softly, “My son is dead…”

 

Boromir kicked the closest marble pillar. “This is when you love him? When he is no more?” He yelled. Boromir could hardly believe the volume of his own voice. The chamber echoed. Boromir sank against the pillar and cupped his face in his hands.

 

His little brother was _dead._ His mind wandered then, recalling all their happy days. A certain instance burned bright in his mind. Faramir, he had just become Captain of the Rangers, and they were celebrating. They were out drinking ale with their _gwedeir_ and Faramir had mentioned that he needed to be sober the very next day. Everyone had laughed at that for there was no way that Faramir _was not_ going to be sick the next day. Faramir had thumped him on the back. ‘ _I trust you brother_ ’ He had said through his alcoholic haze. They had sauntered home that night singing lewd ballads and hiccuping the entire way.

 

Boromir took a deep breath and pressed his hands to his head. There was no way that his little brother could be gone, and yet, he was. He wept silently against the pillar, paying no heed to Denethor in his black throne. When his eyes were finally dry he stood and took one final breath. “To deny Faramir’s death would be folly,” He thought solemnly. “I must cherish his memory, and move on.”

 

He walked back to Denethor and stood tall above him. “Give me half of it.” He said firmly, letting no grief change his tone. “Give me half of the Horn. It is my birthright, and his memory.”

 

Denethor looked up at him with tired eyes and gave Boromir a broken half without a second glance. “You are the Leader of our Rangers now,” Denethor croaked. “Protect the city well.” Boromir nodded and left. He walked until he left the city gate, there outside, he leaned against the Western wall and hugged the Horn.

 

“Oh brother,” He thought, “Where have you gone? Father will grow worse, I sense it. And now that your reason has left us… oh, Faramir, were you returning home? I will never know now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You have left me alone in this city you love so much, but I am not as smart as you.” He said to thin air. He closed his eyes.

 

“I am alone here. I hope you are not, wherever you are.” He walked slowly back to the gate and crossed the courtyard, steel determination in his eyes. He had work to do now, and he would not let Faramir’s duties be forsaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Palanarth : "Palan; abroad arth: lofty" Older name amoung circles, used to be given to peasant children in hopes that they would one day surpass their elder's in rank. The "lofty" part of the name was used to give a sense of inward nobility. Still used in some areas in Minas Tirith, but especially common in the South.
> 
> formal guard position : Opposite hand over your sword. Meaning, if your sword is left on your person, your right hand goes over the hilt. The other hand balls into a fist over your breast. All guards must stand straight.
> 
> Addagnir : Ad: Back dagnir: bane A nickname, the poor soldier is known for his back problems
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write @wow__then)


	13. The Four Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn finds Faramir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we return to Faramir's POV for a little while! enjoy it while u can! This chapter is dedicated to Andalusa93 ,,morgan,, i will never apologize for the angst in this fic ;--D Thank you for reading! Please comment!

Aragorn sped through the overgrown forest to the top of the hill. Every now and again he bent to the ground searching for any sign of hobbit feet. He had found no trace yet save a few foot prints where the camp was made. He looked out around the countryside and spied the high seat of Amon Hen atop the near hill. 

 

He hesitated. He wished to look upon the high seat as once his forefathers had. But there was no time, for judging from the meager tracks he found, Frodo had not come near there. 

 

“I must find them,” He said to himself, “To whatever end.” He turned down and ran North, but saw nothing but distance hills. Aragorn had trained vision but could not see farther even from his vantage point. He cursed quietly and searched again. 

 

Even as he inspected a scratch ridden tree his quick ears caught sounds in the woodlands below, on the West side of the River. Aragorn stiffened, and strained his hearing. To his dismay he heard cries, and the jeers of Orcs among them. Then suddenly, a deep throated call rang clear in the sky, shaking the very bones of the Earth. A great horn was being blown, and it echoed in the hills, its mighty shout high above the roar of Rauros. 

 

“The Horn of Faramir!” He cried, “He is in need!” He began down the hill, “But where are our hobbits? Oh, that I had with me Legolas or Gimli!” 

 

As he ran the cries became louder, fierce and shrill the voices of the Orcs were, and the Horn call bellowed in response. Until suddenly, it ceased. Aragorn sped down the slope, but the air was quiet before he reached the hill’s foot. He sprinted through the forest, heeding not his weariness until at last he came upon the Orcs, crying “ _ Elendil! Elendil! _ ” as he crashed through the trees. 

 

A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a small glade, he found Faramir. 

 

He was lying against a tree, his body slumped and folded inward like a crumpled piece of parchment. Aragorn then spied the shaft of an arrow protruding from the man’s shoulder. His sword was in his hand but the Horn was nowhere to be found. 

 

Looking about, Aragorn could see a black arrow lodged into a nearby tree, and black blood mingled with deep red. Aragorn came closer to Faramir, and saw a deep wound in his foot and dark blood running down the side of his temple. The man himself looked barely to be breathing. 

 

Aragorn fell to his knees with a cry. It was clear Faramir had fought well, and whether he would pay with his life? Aragorn could not tell. 

 

He bent over the body and put a hand to the neck. There was the weakest of pulses. Faramir was alive, but he did not stir. Aragorn did not wish to wake him, but the need was dire. Already he could hear the heavy footfall of Gimli and the light pad of Legolas. They needed to know what happened. 

 

He leaned forward and cupped Faramir’s pale cheek. “Faramir! Faramir!” He whispered, “Already the time comes to fight again! We must defend our own. Awake! There are foes about! Awake!” Aragorn looked searchingly at Faramir’s face for any sign of reaction. It would have been easier to wake him with  _ athelas _ but there was none. 

 

Then, Faramir frowned. And, as if waking from a deep dream, the man opened his eyes heavily. Faramir laboured greatly to keep consciousness, his eyes adjusted to the glaring light of noon. Finally, after what seemed like years, he saw Aragorn and started. 

 

Faramir moaned, his head felt like a cracked egg, not to mention the soreness of the rest of his body. “I have failed.” He said quietly, “They are gone.” 

 

“Who?” Asked Aragorn, “Who is gone? Frodo? Sam? I could not find them here.”

 

“No,” Cried Faramir, his loss overwhelming him, “Frodo and Sam escaped. They fled when I told them to run. They are far away.” 

 

“Merry and Pippin then?” Aragorn asked grimly. 

 

Faramir nodded and winced. “They came at us, they never stopped. I did not stop. The Orcs. I fought them. I  _ protected  _ my friends, but they never relented. They grabbed Merry and Pippin. I tried to reach them! I heard them call my name in fear! But I was struck down. I was -” Faramir sobbed. His miserable cries rattled in his chest. 

 

“Which direction did they take them?” Asked Aragorn gently, “Did you  _ see _ ?” 

 

Faramir heaved his breath, “Yes,” He said, resolve burning in his eyes. “The filthy creatures fled Northwest. Though I do not know their destination.” 

 

Aragorn nodded, and he heard then the light tread of Legolas and the heavy footfall of Gimli. 

 

Faramir closed his eyes and let out a deep pained sigh. With a cry both Elf and Dwarf were at the man’s crumpled body. The two clutched each other’s hands and held each other in grief. “Do not grieve for me,” Said Faramir haltingly, trying once more to open his eyes though his head throbbed loudly between his ears, “I am not gone yet.” Faramir smiled as wide as he could. 

 

“Ach! You gave me a scare laddie!” Said Gimli, wiping his eyes with his beard. 

 

Legolas looked at Faramir critically, “Aragorn, will he be alright to walk?” 

 

“I am fine.” Said Faramir. He winced as he tried to sit up. 

 

“If we bandage his shoulder and what other wounds he has, he should even be able to run. Though it would pain you greatly.” Aragorn added. 

 

Faramir nodded sincerely. “We must find Merry and Pippin.” 

 

Said Aragorn, “Frodo and Sam are beyond our help now, I reckon. Now the Fellowship is no more.” 

 

“But what are we?” Asked Gimli as he helped Faramir up, “We are no more than Four Hunters.” 

 

“Then Four Hunters we shall be.” Said Legolas as he searched his pockets for cloth. 

 

“Indeed.” Faramir said, “We must find them,” He said solemnly. Aragorn nodded and bound Faramir’s wounds the best he could. “The arrow,” He said solemnly, “I must push it out.” 

 

Faramir looked at Aragorn gravely, “Then do so.” 

 

Aragorn did, and Faramir cried out in pain, but the arrow went through, and his shoulder was wrapped. 

 

They searched then, stripping the bodies of the fallen Orcs. When they had finished they piled all weapons on the forest floor. 

 

“See!” Cried Aragorn, he pulled from an Orc two jewel encrusted daggers, leaf-bladed and running with gold. 

 

“Here be more!” Legolas cried, and he revealed two sheaths of black leather laden with red embroidery and silver. 

 

“No doubt now our friends are weaponless,” Said Faramir, “But if they still live we should take them. I see now they are blades of the Westernesse. A great prize and the bane of all Mordor. Perhaps when we find them again we will return them in good faith.” 

 

“I will collect arrows from the fallen, for my quiver has indeed gotten low.” Said Legolas, and he ran about the glade, collecting what he could. 

 

Gimli looked at the stripped bodies of Orcs in disgust and kicked one in good measure. 

 

“Here lie the bodies of those not of the folk of Mordor,” Said Aragorn curiously, “For see, their gear is not of the manner used by Orcs and their skin be blacker and worn. And there! There is a sign! Upon their shields lay the device of a white hand and a stark metal  _ S _ ! I have not seen these tokens before… What do they mean?” 

 

“S is for Sauron,” Said Gimli, “That is easy to read.” 

 

“Nay!” Said Legolas, “Sauron does not use Elf-runes!” 

 

“Legolas speaks true,” Said Faramir, and he bent slowly down to the shield where it lay, “Sauron uses the mark of his red eye, and so do his Orcs. This white S… This is evil from Isengard, I guess. See, the S stands for Saruman. We were told of his cunning a long while ago at the council.” 

 

“It is as Gandalf feared then,” Said Gimli as he helped Faramir up again, “The West is no longer safe.” 

 

“Perhaps,” Faramir said, “This means Saruman has had news of our journey. He must know of Gandalf’s fall… The  _ crebain _ !” Faramir staggered a bit in excitement. “ _ The birds _ ! They were the messengers. Remember? Before Moria.” 

 

“Indeed,” Said Gimli sadly, “Would that I could return to that time before.” Legolas came and pulled Gimli close in comfort. 

 

“Let us go then,” Said Aragorn, “For look, clearly as I see it. There are tracks East, and they are not of Men.” Aragorn crouched to the ground and examined the foot-prints closely. “They are Frodo and Sam’s,” He said surely. Faramir wondered then if the hobbits had made it far. “It looks as though they made it to the Eastern shore.” 

 

“Yes,” Said Legolas, “I see it, there is a boat missing.” 

 

“Then we are too late,” Said Gimli. 

 

“Not so,” Said Faramir, “They have gotten away… I suspect it is up to the two to carry on the burden wholly. It seems we are on a different path.” 

 

“Aye,” Aragorn said, “To rescue Merry and Pippin. Their path leads Northwest into the hills.” 

 

“Well then,” Said Gimli, “Let us go hunt some Orc!” 

 

They ran, and ran, and ran. Ever Gimli and Faramir tarried in the back and Faramir cursed his wounds which stung and his head which throbbed every moment. “I would rather be hale and whole than this ramshackle state I am in.” He thought as his breath laboured away. 

 

“Dwarves,” Gimli wheezed, “Are wasted on long distance, we are natural sprinters! We are not meant to run for so long.” 

 

Faramir barked out a pained laugh and continued. His thoughts turned to Merry and Pippin, where were they and how did they fare? His anger welled within his stomach and curled his insides. They were gone because of him, but they would be found because of him. 

 

The Four Hunters passed the stony horizon, sprinting Northwest with Aragorn at the lead. Fiery resolve burned in Faramir’s eyes. He would not let his friends be taken again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Surprise! there are none
> 
> (Art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I live tweet when I write @wow__then)


	14. The Rohirrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Four Hunters hunt Orc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I've had writer's block for like...two months, but here it finally is: Chapter 14!!! *crowd cheering* lmao I'm dedicating this chapter to me because I'm posting it on my birthday. I'm finally 15....the age of driving permits, work permits, PSAT, and mistakes... I hope you enjoy the chapter! Comment!!

They ran many miles, until at last, to Gimli and Faramir’s relief, Aragorn stalled the group. 

 

“The trail becomes unclear here.” He muttered. 

 

Faramir looked around from where the Four Hunters stood on the hill. He had a feeling they would never get to the hobbits in time unless they found some clue to their whereabouts. “There is only so much we can do.” He thought solemnly. As they had ran, his resolve had burned into the air and now all of Faramir’s pained thoughts were turned to the aching in his bound foot and shoulder. He raised a tender hand to his temple and felt at the meager cloth steeped with blood wrapped around his head. Faramir winced softly. His head rang as if it were a large bronze bell, his head throbbed painfully. 

 

Gimli was wheezing next to him; the dwarf’s breaths were haggard and heavy after running so long. 

 

“I have discovered that the Orc trail leads down into the valley into West Emnet. I do not know now if they will strike South down the Entwash or continue West, but we can follow as long as we are able.” Said Aragorn, coming back from where he had examined tracks on the ground. 

 

“Surely they must be taking our hobbits to Saruman?” Legolas said. The Elf patted Gimli on the back as the dwarf heaved breathlessly. 

 

“If to Saruman they go, then we will too.” Wheezed Gimli, “Are we not the Four Hunters?” 

 

“Yes,” Said Aragorn, “We will find them.” 

 

“Let us be off, and follow the tracks. That will give us the most surety.” Said Faramir. He pressed at his shoulder cautiously and drew his hand away fast. The pressure shot through his shoulder like lightning. 

 

“West, then.” Said Aragorn resoundingly. The Four nodded and began again. 

 

They followed each other down into the valley with Aragorn ever searching for more signs of hobbit or Orc. At last, when they were down into the vale Aragorn spotted something. “Now here is something strange,” He said, walking to the tree-line cautiously. “Here lies five dead Orcs! But, why have they fallen? And where are our hobbits?” Aragorn said.

 

“There, the tracks are clearer once more!” Cried Legolas, and the Elf pointed towards deep boot prints in the grass. 

 

“Then we are behind them!” Said Faramir, hope edged in his voice. 

 

“Let us hope not  _ too  _ far behind.” Said Gimli. 

 

They started off once more, following the tracks earnestly. They trailed the boot prints for many hours, barely stopping for rest. Soon, Faramir began to tire and grow slow, but ever he kept up his vigilance. Then, at last, the Four Hunters came to rest near the end of Emyn Muil, for they had used all their daylight in search of their small companions. 

 

Faramir lent against a boulder and gingerly  checked his wounds; none were infected, but the dizziness in his head had gotten worse as time went on. 

 

Aragorn came close to where Faramir leaned: “May I?” He said as he extended an offering hand towards the dirty bandages. Faramir nodded slowly. Aragorn set to work carefully, redressing each wound and cleaning it as well as he could. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Faramir said quietly as Aragorn worked on his shoulder. 

 

“Whatever for?” Aragorn asked. 

 

“For coming to blows with you so harshly in Lothlórien, and then continuing the petty feud until we reached the Falls of Rauros,” Faramir looked at Aragorn but could not discern any hint to what the man was thinking. 

 

“It is alright now,” Said Aragorn calmly, “Such things often come to pass, and you were grieving. It is only natural for such things to emerge painfully from the mind.” 

 

Faramir stared at Aragorn and at last pulled him into a long-deserving embrace. “Thank you, my friend.” Faramir said quietly. Faramir felt Aragorn nod and then all too soon the two pulled apart. Aragorn met his gaze softly and then turned away towards Gimli who was wheezing by a boulder. 

 

Faramir made his way towards Legolas, who was looking out at the far horizon. “ _ Prestad? _ ” Faramir said when he reached Legolas’ side. 

 

_ “Ū” _ They stood together in silence looking at the evergrowing night. The stars glinted in the sky and the moon was bright. “Can you see it?” Said Legolas. 

 

“See what?” Asked Faramir. Was it Orcs? Smoke? His eyes were not as keen as an Elf. 

 

“Gondor,” Legolas said softly, “It is there - in the distance… That is your home, no?” 

 

Faramir nodded, astonished, and he squinted towards the horizon of stars. Indeed, he could see the White Mountains silhouetted against the night. “Yes,” Faramir said in a breath of a whisper, “That is my home.” 

 

“Aye, but not mine.” Said a voice by his waist, and Faramir smiled in spite of himself. 

 

“‘Tis mine as well.” Said Aragorn from Gimli’s side, but Faramir was not looking at him, rather the edge of mountains that led to his home. “Would that we had looked to it in a happier hour,” Said Aragorn, he sounded almost disappointed. “I would see the sun shine from the mountaintops and the snow glitter.” 

 

“There is a song… common enough amongst the men of Gondor, but it is old… ” Said Faramir, his eyes shining. Faramir sang softly and as he did he heard a quiet hum from Aragorn:

 

_ “Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea!  _ __  
_ West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree  _ __  
_ Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old.  _ __  
_ O proud walls! White towers! O winged crown and throne of gold!  _ __  
_ O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree,  _ _  
_ __ Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?”

 

When he finished the Four Hunters stood in silence. “Let us go.” Said Aragorn quietly. Everyone silently agreed. 

 

They traveled West in the moonlight and slept but a little, searching ever for a sign of their friends. Finally, Gimli had discovered one of the Lothlórien brooches. They were getting close. At last, in early morning, the Four Hunters came to the East Wall of Rohan, and Faramir saw the green plains of the Rohirrim stretching far before him. 

 

“Look!” Cried Legolas, the ground rumbled at their feet. “There is a great company on foot; but I cannot say more, nor what kind of folk they be. They are too far, even for my eyes. But, they are many leagues away - I’d guess twelve, judging from the flat of the plain.” 

 

“I think, that we no longer need a trail to tell us where to go.” Said Gimli, “Let us find a path to the fields - the quickest there may be.” 

 

“I doubt we will find a path quicker than the one the Orcs chose.” Aragorn said. 

 

They then pursued their enemies with great determination and speed that was given them, even poor Gimli, still out of breath, ran with such a fervour that Faramir had never seen before. Soon enough, the Four Hunters reached the end of the East Wall and they realized that they were indeed at grass of Rohan. The air seemed clearer, and their steps quickly became lighter. Together the four crossed East Emnet. 

 

Eventually, they lost the light and Faramir worried quietly to himself about Merry and Pippin. The Orcs had been lost to them, even though they had ran 12 leagues and crossed the East of Rohan many times. They debated for some time about following the Orcs through the dark but it was decided that - though the Orcs were far ahead - the risk was too great. Faramir consigned himself to looking Westwards during the night, hoping to see the tail end of the loathsome hoard, if only to reassure himself that all was not lost. 

 

At first light they set out again, Legolas led them a while, for he had seen from afar turf that had been trodden and rent with heavy boots in the red dawn. 

 

Aragorn kneeled by the crushed grass: “They rested here a while, but already the tracks have grown old. I fear the Orcs gain on us with every passing hour.” 

 

All despaired as they looked at the trodden grass. “Then we are behind them! Too far behind…” Said Gimli, he felt the ground sadly. Legolas pressed a comforting hand to his back, Aragorn and Faramir looked at each other grimly. 

 

“We must continue,” Faramir said, he helped Gimli to his feet, ignoring the aching pain in his shoulder. 

 

They followed the trail well into noon into a deep-cloven that ran near the beginning of a forest. When they stopped Legolas paused and listened intently. The empty fields were silent, and Faramir’s trained ears could only hear the air moving on the grass when they weren’t interrupted by the dull thudding of his temple. 

 

“Riders,” Said Aragorn quietly, as though there was a chance of something listening in. Aragorn dropped to the ground swiftly and listened to the earth. The Four Hunters stood in tense silence as Aragorn listened. “Riders, yes!” Cried Aragorn, springing to his feet, “Many on swift steeds ride towards us!” 

 

“Yes,” Said Legolas, “There are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair and bright are their spears. Their leader is tall.” 

 

Faramir laughed inwardly, “He did that on purpose,” He thought. 

 

Aragorn smiled, “Keen are the eyes of Elves.” 

 

“Nay!,” Said Legolas, “They are but five leagues away and gain every moment.” 

 

“We cannot escape them on this bare land,” Said Gimli, “Shall we wait and meet them?” The dwarf looked to Aragorn. 

 

“Aye, let us wait. I am weary and our hunt has failed. Perhaps we will get news.” 

 

“Or spears,” Said Gimli. Legolas rolled his eyes. 

 

“Legolas, do you see anything else?” Asked Faramir. 

 

“I see four three empty saddles and no hobbits.” 

 

Faramir sighed. 

 

“I did not say the news would be good.” Said Aragorn solemnly. 

 

“Then let us wait,” Said Faramir, and he plopped down on the grass and wrapped his cloak about him tight. They sat at the top of the hill and Faramir watched the Riders grow closer and closer. He wondered: could they have seen Merry and Pippin? Faramir rubbed at his temple, his head felt heavy and sore. He dared not look at his foot or shoulder for fear of the worst. 

 

At last, the riders drew within shouting distance and Faramir watched Aragorn rise and call out: “What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?” 

 

All at the once the Riders circled back to where they now stood, each horse was in perfect sync with the other. It was a fascinating sight. Faramir marveled at the might of the Rohirrim and wondered why they had lost contact with the Riders of the Mark in recent years. 

 

The riders stopped suddenly and surrounded the four, bows in hand and arrows already fitted onto their strings. Aragorn stepped forward with his palms open upward, a peaceful gesture. 

 

“Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?” Said the tallest Rider, from his helm a crest of white horse hair flowed. 

 

“I am called Strider,” Said Aragorn. “I came out of the North. I am hunting Orcs.” 

 

The Rider leaped down from his horse and towered over Aragorn. Faramir watched the horsemen carefully. “You will have no such luck in these lands for you have come too late.” 

 

“Too late?” Said Aragorn, “How so?” 

 

“The Orcs have been burned, not far from here. I would think you Orcs yourselves if not for your dress. It is of Elvish make… Are you Elvish folk?” Said the Rider, he glanced around at the Four, scrutinizing them with his dark gaze. 

 

“No,” Said Aragorn calmly, “Only one of us is an Elf: Legolas from the Woodland Realm. But, we have passed unseen only by the goodwill of the Lady of the Golden Wood and her gifts she gave us in Lothlórien.” 

 

“Hm,” Said the Rider, he stood silently, looking once more upon the Four, “It is no matter how you have come hither… it seems to me that you are good folk, though what business two Men, an Elf, and a Dwarf have is not of my concern. I am Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Strange, it is, for one to be cloaked in such otherworldly garb, but much of the world is changed now and continues so. However, I must ask you this: are you friend or foe? For the Golden Wood is a dark place and the Lady who rules there is said to be a witch! Have you come to join with the Dark Lord? Why do you not speak silent ones?” Éomer turned to Faramir, Legolas and Gimli, “Are your tongues caught?” 

 

“Nay!” Said Gimli, and he planted his feet firmly on the ground, his hands clenching his sharp axe. “My tongue is not tied! I am Gimli son of Glóin - let me warn you horse rider - you speak of evil you know not of! Only small wit can excuse you.” 

 

Éomer’s eyes blazed, and Faramir heard the Men of the Riddermark murmur angrily behind him. The Men of Rohan closed in, flashing their spears menacingly. “I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground,” Said Éomer. 

 

“He stands not alone,” Said Legolas coming forward, bow already notched and raised, “You would die before your stroke fell.” 

 

“Strange are our times that a Dwarf and Elf may defend another in kinship…” Said Éomer, he held up his hand, and slowly the other Riders lowered their spears. “And who are you?” Éomer said at last, turning to Faramir. 

 

“I am Faramir son of Denethor, Man of Gondor.” Said Faramir, he inclined his head to the other Riders, “Long has it been since Gondor and Rohan last worked as one.” 

 

Éomer looked at Faramir oddly. “Nay, it cannot be,” Said Éomer, “Even in Meduseld we have heard: Faramir of Gondor had passed.” 

 

Faramir looked wide-eyed at Éomer, “How so?” There was panic in his voice. How could it be that he was presumed dead? 

 

“I know not,” Said Éomer sincerely, “We only received word of it late this month.” 

 

Faramir looked to Aragorn, he was upset and confused but there was no time. 

 

“Do you believe us not to be brigands or dark creatures?” Said Aragorn, “We are on a hunt and cannot be delayed much longer.” 

 

Éomer continued to stare at Faramir, “Yes,” he said, never taking his eyes off of the man, “Yes, it is fine… Éorla! Give them Hasufel and Arod!” Éorla, a tall woman with flashing eyes, brought two fine horses out from the back of the Rider’s encirclement. 

 

“I hope you find what you seek.” Said Éomer, “You have a friend in Rohan if you are in need.” And with a final nod, Éomer hoisted himself back upon his steed; the Riders of the Mark joined together and rode away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Prestad : "Is there trouble?" "Trouble? (Literal)"
> 
> Ū : "No (Literal)"
> 
> (art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (I livetweet when I write! @wow__then)


	15. The White Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Four Hunters continue on their journey and recover an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh chapter 15 finally finished!! so much exposition...the plot picks up after this..i promise lollololol i have school a lot so dont expect frequent updates! Thank you for reading!! Please leave a comment!

The Hunters rode together, Aragorn and Faramir, and Gimli and Legolas, the two steeds shared between them. No one spoke a word, for Aragorn regarded closely the trodden ground for some sign of their lost friends. Gimli and Legolas too, were in low spirits; Éomer’s words had not soothed anyone.

 

Faramir sat upon Hasufel behind Aragorn, holding his temple and deep in thought. His mind was turbulent and malicious. Over and over, he regarded the words of the Horse Rider. “Has my Father lost all hope as to my return?” Thought Faramir, “Has he so little regard for his second son that he be better off without me?” All Faramir could say for certain was that the dark thoughts in his mind only added to the ache in his temple, so he kept hold of Aragorn’s sides and stared at the ground, trying to be of use.

 

“ _ Im úamarthan… _” Faramir said softly to the ground, his eyes trailed the soft earth, searching for some sign of track, some indication that this search was not for naught.

 

“ _ Fó! Lau… Im caral...chínon ilanwa! _ ” Came Aragorn’s voice from the front.  


Faramir raised his head, surprised. “How so?” He asked; the question was not accusatory, but solemn and resigned.

 

“Ill-fated you are not. For though we have lost Merry and Pippin-” Faramir cast his eyes downward again, “-we have not _lost_ anyone but Gandalf. And though it pains me to remember our friend so, it also gladdens me that you remain here by _my side_... By our side.”

 

Faramir looked up at Aragorn. From what Faramir could see, the other’s face was dirt ridden and worn, covered with scuffs and crusted blood, but his eyes were soft. Something ached in Faramir’s stomach, but he had received no injury there. Faramir swallowed dryly and attempted a smile though his heart pounded and his head along with it. Aragorn locked eyes with his own and Faramir felt like a tome being pried open for the first time in years.

 

The dust cleared away from his mind. Faramir’s eyes widened. He looked past Aragorn. There, was a mound. “Gimli, Legolas! _ Tir _! Look!” Faramir exclaimed.

 

Drawing ever nearer was a tower of foul Orc bodies; they were precariously strewn over each other, and some heads were stuck on sharp pikes surrounding the mound, a warning.

 

“This surely is the Orc party that stole away our hobbits!” Said Gimli as Legolas helped him down from Arod.

 

“Here are the Orcs,” Legolas said, “But where are the hobbits?”

 

Aragorn swung down from Hasufel and began searching the trampled earth carefully. Faramir carefully lowered himself to the ground, keeping wary eye on his bandaged foot.

 

“Could this be the remains of a battle?” Mused Faramir.

 

“Perhaps the Rohirrim met the Orcs before us. But look!” Gimli said. The dwarf reached to the pile and retrieved a scabbard, torn and trampled. “Here is some proof of our toil! It is one of their wee belts!” Cried Gimli, he held it out to Aragorn as he rushed over. Faramir followed as quick as he could.

 

“Indeed!” Said Aragorn, “It is of Lórien make. And here some crumbs! But is there more? Any other sign left?” Aragorn bent down to the ground, worried.

 

Faramir swept his gaze over the earth, with a small gasp he knelt down and pulled from the dead grass some kind of rope, “Here is some cut cord nearby!”

 

“And here is the knife that cut them!” Said Gimli, he brought from the trampled earth a dagger, shaped in the fashion of an Orc scimitar. “It was an Orc weapon.” Gimli spat. He held the dagger away from him, much like one does with a piece of food not fitting their liking.

 

“Now here is the worst riddle yet!” Exclaimed Legolas, he circled the mound as if trying to will the hobbits out from under the corpses, “We have a prisoner who has escaped while in the flurry of battle - presumably the Horse Riders - and has stopped to cut his bonds with an Orc-knife! But how? And _why?_ Were not his feet tied? How did he move about? If his feet were loosed but not his arms, how did he cut his bonds? If neither were tied, why did he cut the cords at all? And then after such toil, he sits and breaks his fast with Elvish waybread! This shows he was a hobbit- if only one. Then I suppose after all the excitement he grew wings and flew away in the sky! Well, it should be easy enough to find him: if only we could grow wings ourselves!”

 

“Perhaps some bout of sorcery was done here?” Said Gimli, he brushed Legolas’ arm in comfort, “However, it cannot be Gandalf… Perhaps it was Saruman with a wicked plan of his?”

 

Faramir pondered what had been said. If indeed at least one prisoner escaped it would be fine indeed, but what of the other? Who had been left behind? Merry? Or Pippin? Faramir knelt closer to the ground, well aware of the pain in his foot and all sorts of other aches that plagued him. The earth had been trampled, and there in the grass it was plain to see - Horse hooves! So the Rider’s had come about! And there - Faramir knelt so far that he looked in prayer - there, was a foot-print! And not just Orc nor Horse, but Hobbit! Faramir looked up and grinned, but Aragorn was speaking of spilt blood and Orcs slain.

 

“Aragorn!” Faramir called and waved towards the print, “Here be more tracks - Hobbit in kind. I believe they fled some ways there” He pointed towards the Forest of Fangorn which sat eerily to their left. The trees seemed to be leering.

 

“Indeed!” Said Aragorn, there was a light in his eyes. Pride? Adoration? Faramir could not say. It made his stomach ache. “And the Hobbit was not seen - for he had a cloak shielding him from untoward eyes… I say _he_ as Legolas before for I do not know if both Merry _and_ Pippin made it out.”

 

Faramir nodded.

 

“And how do you both suppose our friend came to free his hands?” Said Gimli, “And why, when Faramir,” He gestured to the Man, “was assailed were the Orcs so intent on snatching up just the Hobbits? Now is the time that I think it very lucky that Frodo and Sam got away when they did… Who knows what could have happened with the Ring in Saruman’s grasp?”

 

Aragorn’s eyebrows raised in exclamation, “Perhaps he thought it was so!” Aragorn began to follow the tracks Faramir had found; the Hunters trailed behind. “Perhaps the Orcs could not distinguish the four and grabbed the closest creature in their midst!” Aragorn stopped in front of the Forest. “But whatever happened…” He said softly, “Their need for safety must have been great…”

 

The Four Hunters gazed up at the looming trees, they swayed slowly in the breeze.

 

“We must not be daunted by Fangorn.” Legolas said softly _._ The trees seemed to listen to their words, biding their time.

 

“At least one of our friends escaped,” Said Gimli, “And it is our duty to seek them out and help them if need be, whether the long road be to Rohan or through Fangorn.”

 

“Then let us enter the forest.” Said Faramir. He watched the trees carefully. Did not Gandalf say once that Saruman had many spies? Could trees be spies? He wished not to find out.

 

-

 

They came across more prints near the Entwash, whereupon they disappeared giving to the fact that the ground had become dry and unreliable. Faramir gathered some dirt in his hand and let it fall. “At least one hobbit stood here,” He said, “But then he turned away into the forest…”

 

“Then let us go in!” Said Gimli. In a smaller voice he said: “Though I do not like the look of it.”

 

“Nor I.” Said Aragorn.

 

“I do not think it is an evil forest…” Said Legolas, as he scrutinized the leaves and twisting branches, “It seems to me that the forest is but listening and peering at us from the shadows. No. There is no evil here, and what evil that lies within it lies very far away. There is no malice towards us, but perhaps watchfulness and anger.”

 

“What cause do the trees have to be angry at me?” Said Gimli, “I have done them no harm!”

 

“Perhaps, friend, it is the axe you carry at your belt?” Faramir said flatly, “If I were made of wood, I would take no liking to it as well.”

 

Gimli huffed.

 

“This air is stuffy. The wood is lighter than Mirkwood’s but it brings with it a musty feel.” “It is old… Very old…” The Elf said, “I feel it. These trees are older than the grass and perhaps even the Sun… So old I feel as but a child, much unlike how I feel about you children… I could be happy here….If only I had come in days of peace!”

 

“I dare say you could yet,” Gimli snorted, “You are a Wood-elf, and Elves are strange folk. Yet you comfort me, where you go I shall. Come! Take up your bow and I will keep my axe loose on my belt. Ah - But not for use on the trees,” Gimli added hastily, casting a worried glance at the Forest. “I do not wish to meet any foe unawares, that’s all. Let’s go!”

 

With that, the Four Hunters trudged into the Forest of Fangorn.

 

The tracking was left to Faramir and Aragorn; both being Rangers of some sort, they had great skill between them. However, there was little to see. The floor of the Forest was strewn with dead grass and heavy foliage, making it hard to descry any footprints on the ground below. Faramir guessed, however, that whoever had escaped would stay near water, so they followed by the banks of the stream, whereupon Aragorn found the clear footprints of two Hobbits, one being slightly smaller than the other.

 

“We are in luck!” Exclaimed Gimli, “They both escaped!”

 

“Yes.” Aragorn said, “But, these tracks are two days old, and it seems they left the waterside.”

 

“What shall we do now?” Faramir mused to himself, “We have come ill prepared. It would do us no good to show our companionship by sitting down with them and starving together… Even so, I suppose we must do what we can.”

 

“Let us go on.” Said Aragorn, “Mayhaps we will find them, even in this vast Forest.”

 

They then came at length to a large hill, it looked to be a rock-wall with high sloping steps that led to a shelf. The gleam of the sun broke through the tree canopy and gave the Forest a livelier colour.

 

“Let us look about!” Said Legolas, “My breath is short, and I yearn for fresh air.”

 

They climbed up, Faramir following last for although pained by bruises, he also scanned the ground for any new sign that Merry and Pippin had been around. Faramir reached the top and sat down with a resounding thump. “I am almost certain they have been here,” He said, and began to unwrap the bandages about his head so as to wrap them anew. “But there are other marks… Aragorn, what do you make of them?” Faramir asked. He winced as his hand brushed his cut temple. “They are very strange… Nothing I have seen before. I confess that I do not understand it.”

 

Faramir looked out from the ledge; the shelf faced Southeast and only the heads of trees could be seen, nothing useful. Faramir sighed.

 

Legolas sighed also and sat himself gracefully upon the ledge. “We have come the long way round. We might have made better time had we left the Great River and struck West. But, alas! It is no use now! The road is often unclear until the end of the journey.”

 

“But we did not wish to come to Fangorn.” Said Gimli.

 

“Yet here we are…” Faramir heard Aragorn mumble.

 

“Caught in a net…” Legolas said, then, the Elf paused, “Look!”

 

“Look at what?” Gimli said, his hand went swiftly to the axe at his side.

 

“There in the trees.”

 

“Where? I have not Elf-eyes.”

 

“Hush,” Legolas’ voice became low and the Elf leaned forward on the ledge to get a better look at the Forest. “There, by the tree line - it is an old man clothed in rags. I did not see him at first.”

 

Faramir looked and saw a bent figure, moving slowly. He carried a staff and his face was shrouded in shadow. To Faramir, however, there seemed to be power and purpose in the man’s movement. The Hunters were silent.

 

“Your bow, Legolas!” Gimli whispered, “Bend it! It is Saruman surely. He is come to lure us, let us not let him speak, for surely he will put a spell on us!”

 

Faramir watched Legolas take his bow and carry an arrow loose in his hand, but he did not shoot it. “What do you wait for?” Hissed Gimli.

 

“No!” Whispered Faramir, “We cannot shoot an old man unawares!”

 

“Legolas and Faramir are right, Gimli. Let us watch and wait.” Said Aragorn quietly.

 

At that moment the old man quickened his pace and came swiftly to the rock wall. Faramir watched curiously from the ledge. Then suddenly, as if sensing their gaze, the old man looked up. The Hunters stood motionless. All the world seemed quiet. Faramir saw that a wide hat obscured much of the man’s face, but he thought he saw the flash of eyes underneath his cap.

 

At last, the old man broke the silence. “Well met indeed, my friends,” Said the old man in a soft voice, “I wish to speak. Shall I come up, or you down?” Without waiting for an answer the old man began to climb quite quickly. Faramir heard Gimli shout something about loosing an arrow, but Legolas did not shoot.

 

Faramir watched the old man scamper up their ledge with surprising grace. “Master Dwarf, pray take your hand from your axe-haft. You will not need such arguments!” The old man called as he climbed closer. As the old man climbed, Faramir could have sworn to see a glint of white underneath his grey rags but at last, he reached the ledge, and grunting, settled himself down on the rock. “Well met, I say again! And what - may I say - are you doing in these parts? Two Men, an Elf, and a Dwarf, all clad in Elvish fashion is a rare sight indeed. No doubt there is a tale behind it. Such things are not seen here often.”

 

“You speak as one who knows Fangorn well,” Said Aragorn, “Is that so?”

 

“Not well,” Said the old man, “But oftentimes I come about and visit.”

 

“Might we know your name and what you want of us? The morning passes and we have an errand to run.” Aragorn said.

 

The old man raised his eyebrows. “As to what I wished to say: I have said it. No, what I want to know is of your tale! And as for my name!” He broke off and began to laugh long and softly. Faramir watched the man curiously. There was a familiarity there that he could not quite describe. “My name!” The old man said again, “Is known to you, I think. Yes! Yes, you have heard it before. But come, what of your tale?”

 

The Four Hunters stood silent and gave no answer. “Ah, one would begin to doubt that your errand is fit to tell. But luckily I know something of it!” Then, in detail, the old man began to describe the Hunters’ most recent quest for their lost hobbits. At last, when he finished, the old man turned away and went towards a heap of fallen stones at the foot of the cliff behind.

 

It was as if a spell had suddenly lifted. At once Gimli’s hand went to his axe, Legolas’ to his bow, and Aragorn and Faramir’s to their swords. The old man did notice, but stooped low on the flat stone, and they saw - without a doubt - white robes beneath grey.

 

“Saruman!” Gimli cried, “Speak! And tell us where you have hidden our friends!”

 

But, the old man was too quick for them. Fast as lightning he stood, seeming to tower above them in impossible height. As he threw away his cloak he seemed to shine, and Faramir saw that his entire body was indeed cloaked in white. The man lifted his staff and in an instant Gimli dropped his axe to the ground, Aragorn’s sword burst into a bought of white flame, Faramir’s sword stung at his hand, and Legolas loosed an arrow into the air in surprise, which shot high and dissolved into flame.

 

“Mithrandir!” Exclaimed the Elf, “Mithrandir!”

 

“Well, met I say to you again, Legolas.”

 

Faramir stared, for here in splendour was Gandalf, though he was changed. The wizard’s hair was white as snow and gleamed in the sun with his robes. There was a sudden joy and fear, all at once the Hunters were speechless.

 

At last, Aragorn stirred. “Gandalf!” He said, “Gandalf! In all my years… What veil that hid you has gone away! Come at last in our time of need! Gandalf!”

 

Gimli said nothing, only sank to his knees without word.

 

Faramir stared openly at the man, many impossible thoughts running through his mind at once. Here was the one he grieved for, for so long. What could he say to this? There was nothing, no words to express the confusion and relief that washed over him.

 

“Gandalf…” The old man said, “Yes, that is what I once was called… Yes. You may still call me Gandalf.” He stepped down from the rock and wrapped his grey cloak round once more and at once it seemed like the sun had been covered by a cloud, for his brightness was diminished. “Well met, my friends. Ah Gimli -” He said, turning to the Dwarf who still knelt on the shelf, “There is no blame to you, nor harm done to me. Be merry! For I have come at the turn of the tide. I can see many things more than before, and a great many I have forgotten. But, the closests to me I cannot know. Come! Tell me of yourselves!”

 

“What do you wish to know?” Asked Faramir, at last he had found his voice. “All that has happened since we parted is a long tale. Come! Tell us news of our hobbits! Did you find them? Are they _safe?_ ”

 

“No, I did not find them,” Said Gandalf, “I did not know of their plight until a great friend relayed it to me. The least I can say is that Frodo was saved from a great peril, but many still lie before him. He resolved to go alone to Mordor, and he set out: that is all I can say.”

 

“Not alone,” Said Aragorn, “Faramir saw Sam go with him.”

 

“Did he?” Said Gandalf, a twinkle in his eye, “It is news to me, yet it does not surprise me. Good! Very good! You lighten my heart. You must tell me more. Now sit by me and relay me the tale of your journey.”

 

Together they sat and relayed their entire tale. Gandalf said nothing, but listened intently, committed - it seemed - to recall all he had lost. At last, when the Hunters had finished, it was Gandalf’s turn. Reassuringly, he told them that Merry and Pippin were safe, and there was nothing they could do for them now. He relayed to them the tale of his fight with the Balrog, and his return to Middle Earth.

 

By the end of his tale, the sun was setting. Faramir’s head rushed with thoughts and pain.

 

“And one last message I have for you four.” Said Gandalf, as his story came to a close. “The Lady of Lothlórien has bidden me to relay for her messages. To Aragorn I was bidden this:

 

_Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar?_  
_Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?_  
_Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth,_  
_And the Grey Company ride from the North._  
_But dark is the path appointed for thee:_ _  
_ The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea.

 

“To Legolas she sent this word:

 

_Legolas Greenleaf long under the tree,_  
_In joy thou hast lived, Beware the Sea!_  
_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_ _  
_    Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.

 

“And to Faramir she said this:

 

_Lost, lost is Faramir of Denethor,_  
_But son of his, thou are no more._  
_Mistaken, lost, given for dead,_  
_There is no shame upon thy head._  
_If thou hearest lover’s bow,_ _  
Say but Yes! And never no._

 

Gandalf fell silent and shut his eyes.

 

Faramir considered the words carefully. The Lady was clear in her message somewhat. But, what love? There was no time for such things in war, and indeed, Faramir had begun to truly understand that this was a war. Faramir was silent and glanced at Legolas and Gimli. “Yet, here is some semblance of love…” Thought he. “Perhaps the Lady is mistaken.”

 

Faramir looked around once more: Gandalf’s eyes were still shut. He looked at Aragorn. The man was looking back at him. Faramir could not recognize the thoughts behind his eyes. It alarmed him, but comforted him all the same. They sat in silence, basking in the other’s presence.

 

“Was there no message for me?” Gimli broke the quiet, and the moment ended.

 

“Ah, forgive me, friend. I was pondering the messages once more.” Gandalf said, opening his eyes. “Yes, she sent a message for you: ‘To Gimli son of Glóin,’ she said, ‘give his Lady’s greeting. Lockbearer, wherever thou goest my thought goes with thee. But have a care to lay thine axe to the right tree!’”

 

Gimli barked out a laugh suddenly. “Twice I have been told not to use my axe. But however shall I continue without it? You have come in a happy hour Gandalf!” At once, the dwarf sang loudly in his natural tongue, joyful, for all to hear. “Come! Come!” He shouted, making his way to the sloping end of the shelf, “Since Gandalf’s head is now sacred, let us find one that it is right to cleave!”

 

“That will not be hard to seek.” Said Legolas smiling, he too rose and followed the Dwarf. “Come!” Said Gandalf, gesturing to Aragorn and Faramir, “We have spent enough time together as parted friends. Now is the time to act!” They walked swiftly down from the shelf, and followed Gandalf through the wood of Fangorn and out again. Their horses were nowhere to be seen.

 

“Alas! It will be a weary walk!” Cried Legolas. Gandalf huffed, “I shall not walk. Time presses too much!” Then Gandalf gave a long whistle, which rang clear in the dimming light and amazed all. Swiftly, came the sound of hooves, and from the ridge came three horses.

 

“There!” Said Legolas, “There is Hasufel and Arod! And there is another that strides ahead!”

 

“That is Shadowfax, chief of the _Mearas_ , lord of horses, not even Théoden, King of Rohan, has looked on better. He has come for me: the horse of the White Rider. We are going to battle together.” At last, the horses gathered, Aragorn and Faramir mounted Hasufel, Gimli and Legolas rode Arod, and Gandalf at the head upon Shadowfax.

 

“We go to Meduseld, to meet Théoden! Swiftly, we must ride!”

 

They set out together, gallops thumping greatly upon the ground. For many hours they rode, until at last the Sun rose once more, and all the world was shrouded with bright mist. They came upon many hidden bogs and crags, but their steeds were not deterred. The Sun rose high in the sky and far away the mountains gleamed red. Looking, they could see smoke rising, it seemed to darken the Sun’s rays.

 

“There lies the Gap of Rohan,” said Gandalf, “It is now almost West of us. That way lies Isengard.”

 

“I see great smoke,” Said Legolas, “What may it be?”

 

Faramir gazed West, scrutinizing the plain, but he could not descry what lay there.

 

“Battle and War!” Said Gandalf, “Ride on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Im úamarthan… : "I [am] ill-fated..."
> 
> Fó! Lau… Im caral...chínon ilanwa! : Literal: "No! No...I do not...you're wrong."
> 
> Tir! : Literal: "Look!"
> 
> (art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (i livetweet when i write! @wow__then)


	16. The King of the Golden Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company of five arrive at the Golden Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy it's been........... a while but!! chapter 16 is finished at last!!! ive only got two more weeks of school and then I'll be gearing up to write another chapter! (most likely) thank you all for sticking with the long hiatuses, it means a lot!! Special thanks to my beta Anila who procrastinated their homework and betaed this instead!! <33 love ya anila, ur the best <333
> 
> Thank you for reading and please, please leave a comment!!

They rode for hours, never ceasing, for their steeds seemed emboldened by the presence of their Master. The Sun lowered on the horizon, and the deep colours of Sunset changed the trodden grass from dry brown to golden yellow. 

 

Faramir clung to the back of Aragorn, his head had once again began to ache. His mind swam with contradictions and contemplations; again and again he returned to the Lady’s hearkening words ‘ _ If thou hearest lover’s bow, Say but Yes! And never no.’  _

 

“Surely, she has mistaken Gimli and Legolas for me and…” Faramir’s thought’s paused; for him and who? There was no one else but Aragorn… Faramir shook his head. 

 

“Alright?” Asked Aragorn as he urged Hasufel to gain speed. 

 

Faramir looked at the back of the Man and swallowed. “Yes” He said. 

 

“And your wounds - they remain fine as well?” 

 

Faramir laughed bitterly. “The sooner we arrive to Edoras the better, is what I find. There is still pain in my temple and my body aches. However, I have no doubt that I will live.” 

 

“Then we must raise our speed.” Aragorn said, and Faramir felt the Man turn in his seat and lock eyes with Gandalf. “How much longer must we ride?” Aragorn called. 

 

“Not long!” Cried Gandalf, “Look!” 

 

In the distance shone a great country, built upon sloping hills, golden in the sinking Sun. Faramir recognized Edoras easily, as he had come to the Eorlingas’ halls often as a boy. 

 

“It’s beautiful!” Said Legolas from Arod, “I can see a white stream that trickles down from the snow, and the place seems nestled within a dike, and about it runs a high wall. Golden, does the light shine on the place, and golden too is the hair on the guards by the door.” 

 

“Does the place have a name?” Gimli asked. 

 

“It is called Edoras!” Said Gandalf, and he pointed to the highest hill, whereupon sat a great hall. “And that is Meduseld- the Golden Hall! A Hall of Kings and King Théoden’s dwelling. No doubt he will receive us with open arms.” 

 

“And filled goblets, I hope!” Laughed Gimli. 

 

“Your mirth is well counted but be wary, war is approaching, and the Horse-lords do not sleep. Draw no weapon in your possession and speak no ill word. I will be your counsel until we reach the King’s court.” Said Gandalf. 

 

Thereafter, they arrived in the early morn, and slowly their steeds trotted ‘round the dike to their destination. Gandalf pointed to a green mound, upon it grew small white flowers; “ _ Simbelmynë _ ,” He said, “Men call them so, and often they grow on Men’s graves. Behold, we have come to the great barrows of the Rohirrim! Here, the fallen Kings rest!” 

 

Faramir surveyed the mounds: they were a stunning green, well tended, and well shaped. The Men who had created them obviously had taken care with each one. Faramir wondered where Thengel was buried. He had never met the man, for he had been born three years after his passing, and yet… And yet, his father had been close in ties with the former King, so it was enough. 

 

“Seven mounds upon the left, and nine upon the right.” Said Aragorn, “It has been many lives of Men since these Kings walked the Earth.” 

 

“But for each time, five hundred leaves fall in Mirkwood. And so little does that while seem to us.” Legolas said, and Faramir saw Gimli place a hand on the other, a gesture of comfort. 

 

“But to the Riders of the Mark, it seems long ago” Said Aragorn, he gestured with a free hand towards the mounds, “the rising of this house and the tongue in which they speak has long been sundered from their Northern kin.” Then he began to chant softly, in a slow tongue, unknown to Elf or Dwarf. Yet, Faramir recognized it. It was Rohirric, a language he had not heard for many a year. 

 

“I am guessing that was the language of the Rohirrim. But, I am nowhere close to guessing what it means, save that it is laden with the griefs of Mortal Men.” Said Gimli. 

 

Aragorn nodded. “It runs thusly in Common Speech, or as near as I can make it: Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? 

  
“ _Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?_ __  
_Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?_ __  
_Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?_ __  
_They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;_ __  
_The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow._ __  
_Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,_ _  
_ __Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

 

“Thus spoke a forgotten poet on how tall and fair Eorl the Young was, who rode with many Men down out of the North with his noble steed, Felaróf, father of Horses.” With these words they continued silent past the mounds. 

 

They followed the winding path of the hills until at last they came upon the Gate of Edoras. There sat many Men in bright mail, who, upon gaining sight of them, sprang to attention and barred the way with sharp spears. They cried out to Gandalf, and Faramir watched amazed as the Wizard answered in the same tongue. They continued in the tongue of the Riddermark, and Faramir caught the eyes of Gimli who looked as concerned as the Elf sat in front of him. He then realized that of the group, only Gimli, Legolas, and he, knew not the language of the Horse-Lords. 

 

As Aragorn joined the conversation Faramir twitched on Hasufel. What would happen if they were not granted audience with the King? He did not know. But, whilst he was amid his musings, the dark gates swung open and they were granted pass. They dismounted their steeds, and slowly they were led by the guardsman up the winding paths to the great Golden Hall. 

 

At length they came to the top of the hill, where which the guardsman parted, returning to his charge at the gate; they had arrived. They rode their steeds through the town, weaving about villagers at work. Most who stared were children, frozen in their play with dolls or sticks, but some were older, who regarded the host with a weary eye. 

 

Faramir leaned close to Aragorn’s ear: “Is it not wise to come here unbidden?” Said he nervously, “The watch of Saruman and the Eye is diligent.” 

 

“We have not come unbidden surely,” Aragorn said, he leant back against Faramir only a little, “Gandalf was bid to return with Shadowfax, and Théoden is a companion he has known long. I myself served under Thengel in my younger days. I cannot be sure of recognition, but I will approach in goodwill all the same.” 

 

“Alright,” Faramir sighed, “But I shall remain alert, lest harm come to one of our good fellows or you.” 

 

Aragorn nodded, and as an afterthought spoke: “Once we are in the Halls of the King and his care, you  _ will  _ receive proper aide. I fear you to swoon at any moment, for though you are strong willed, Faramir, a great wound - or several - can reduce the best knight to dust.” 

 

Faramir smiled, “I take comfort in your words.” 

 

“And I shall take comfort in your health.” Said Aragorn, smiling in return. 

 

They continued on, and at last reached the Golden Hall. Faramir thought it was smaller than he recalled. 

 

“Halt!” Cried the guards at the Door. They descended swiftly from their steeds and gathered before him. “Halt,” They said again, “In the name of the King Théoden, make known your business here!” 

 

One of the guards stepped forward inclined his head to Gandalf. “Hail, worthy travellers. I am the Doorward of Théoden; Háma is my name. I bid you, Masters. Lay your weapons down before you enter.” 

 

“Good Master Háma,” Asked Gimli, “Why should I rid myself of mine own axe, which has served me truly through my many years afoot?” 

 

“It would do you good, Master Dwarf, not to excite the Lord and King of Edoras with the brandishing of your axe. For he would soon enough see it as a threat against him and his kin.” 

 

“You speak truth enough, but I ask this: We have been made known to your King, and my companion knows him well. Is it not then the truth that we come in trust? Whyfor should we secret our weapons away? There have been no clandestine counsels among us.” 

 

Háma gazed at the dwarf in awe and said: “Well spoken, Master Dwarf! But my King’s word is one to keep. Lay your weapon aside.” Faramir then watched Gimli turn to Legolas, whereupon the Elf gave the sign that he knew not what to say. Gimli raised his bushy eyebrows. 

 

Legolas turned to Háma. “Would you have me relinquish my bow in turn? Twas a gift from the Lady of Lothlórien.” 

 

“It is the will of Théoden, and I cannot speak for myself.” Said Háma. 

 

“Very well. Since it is the will of the Lord of this Hall. It seems best to abide by it.” 

 

Faramir nodded to Legolas and gave his sword to the Doorward as the Elf did so. Grudgingly, Gimli handed Háma his axe. Háma laid the weapons hastily beside the wall. “No man shall touch them, I promise you,” He said. 

 

Aragorn stood a while hesitating, and Faramir looked at him perplexed. “It is not my will to put aside my sword or to deliver Andúril to the hand of any other man.” Aragorn caught Faramir’s eye: “No matter the promises he avows.” 

 

“Good Master, it is but the will of the King.” Háma said, “Without your tools put aside, I cannot grant you entry.” 

 

“But it is not clear to me that Théoden son of Thengel, even though he be Lord of the Mark, should prevail over the will of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elendil’s heir of Gondor.” 

 

“This is the house of Théoden, not of Aragorn, even were he King of Gondor in the seat of Denethor,” Said Háma. He drew his sword swiftly and barred the way. The blade pointed towards the strangers. 

 

“Please. This is useless talk. A King may command within his own hall. Peace, Aragorn! Only Allies reside here! And peace, Háma! We are not so ill mannered to resist a King at his door-step.” Said Gandalf, and easily he relinquished his sword into the hands of the Doorward. 

 

Slowly, Aragorn unbuckled his belt and himself set the sword upon the wall amongst the others. “Let no other man touch it but I. For Death shall come to any man that draws Elendil’s sword save Elendil’s heir!” 

 

Háma stepped back and looked with amazement upon Aragorn. “It seems you have come on the wings of song out of forgotten days,” He said, “It shall be, lord, as you command.” Aragorn nodded. 

 

Faramir turned to the guard: “Now, let us go and speak with your Master.” 

 

Háma hesitated, and looked disconsolate at Gandalf. “Your staff,” He said, “Forgive me, but it must be kept outdoors.” 

 

“Nonsense!” Cried Gandalf, “Is the King to deny an old man his cane! Every man needs his support. Come, will you not let us enter?” 

 

Háma looked from the Wizard to the rest of the unfamiliar band. “A staff in the hands of a wizard may be more than a prop for age,” Said Háma. He paused, and looked again at the staff. To Faramir, he seemed to be searching for some hidden chink, or secret box within it. “Yet…” Háma began, “In doubt a man of worth will trust his own wisdom. You do not seem to be foes. And I believe you to be honest folk and worthy of honour, with no evil purpose. You may go in.” Thus the guards hefted up the bar on the door of the great hall, and Háma ushered the Company into the Hall of Théoden. 

 

Once inside, they came upon the tall hall. Within which were tall towers stretching to the far reaches of the house; near the centre, a hearth’s gay flames licked about its base, giving the middle of the hall a playful light. But, not so the end of the hall. The light, it seemed, would only reach so far, and only two great torches illuminated the dim throne. Three figures rested there: one, a bent, haggard man, two, another man, who seemed fluid as a serpent, and a woman, robed in white and gold, who stood highly near the former. 

 

Faramir was unnerved. The only sound was of their heels on tile, and the wretched wheezes of the King. There was a silence, in which, Gandalf walked forward, his arms outstretched in greeting. “Hail Théoden son of Thengel. I have returned from shadow. For behold! All must gather together or else be wholly destroyed.” 

 

There was a creak, and Faramir saw the dark servant clasp his Master’s elbow and bid him rise to meet his guests. The wizened old man clung to a short black staff with a handle of bone. He rose slowly and gazed at the five with lidded, milky white eyes. Faramir in all his memories of Edoras and the rule, had forgotten just how tall the Men of the Riddermark had been. 

 

The King for a moment stood inspecting them. Then, Théoden’s eyes at last caught Gandalf’s and he cleared his throat. “I greet you, travellers, and maybe you seek welcome under my roof, but I doubt you shall find it here, Master Gandalf. You are a bringer of woes. Trouble follows you like crows, and ever oftener the worse. When I had word that Shadowfax had returned riderless I rejoiced. Eomer then brought tidings that at last you had gone to your long home. Then, the tale of Denethor’s dead kin… I did not mourn. But news from afar is seldom sooth. Why have you come again? Have you brought darker tidings nipping at your heels? Tell me, Gandalf Stormcrow, why should I welcome you?” 

 

Faramir eyed the King warily. In a way, the Théoden in front of his eyes was similar to his father. Bent, untrusting, and weary of the world. Faramir’s thoughts turned to his own family in that moment, and he only heeded a bit of the servant’s conversation with the Wizard. He wondered: How did Boromir keep? Was he well? Had he heard the news of his supposed death? Faramir hoped not. 

 

His gaze wandered, and he caught the gaze of the tall maiden who stood by the King. Her eyes were smouldering and dark like coals. Faramir looked away. Something unspoken seemed to have passed between them in that instant. An emotion: anticipation. What were they waiting for? Faramir knew not, but it seemed to him that she knew her desires. 

 

Faramir felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He turned his head ever slightly and saw Aragorn looking intently at Gandalf as he spoke. He blinked and felt heat on his face. It was perhaps exhaustion. Faramir drew his attention to the conversation once more. 

 

The servant seemed to be speaking of the steed Shadowfax, and cursing the Four Hunters. 

 

“The courtesy of your hall has lessened as of late, Théoden of Thengel,” Gandalf eyed the bent King in his throne, “Has not the messenger at your gate reported the name of my companions. For all four are of great renown. Their weapons have been laid aside; weapons that are worth many mortal men, even the mightiest. Grey in their raiment they have passed like shadows to your Great Hall.” 

 

Faramir saw the servant’s face twist into a snarl. “Then it is true, as Éomer reported, that you are in league with the Dark Sorceress of the Golden Wood?” Spat the servant, he cast a deceitful eye at Legolas, “It is not to be wondered at: webs of deceit were ever woven in Dwimordene.” 

 

Faramir saw Gimli seethe next to Legolas and begin to step forward, but the Elf restrained him. Gimli took a breath and stood still as stone. Then, Gandalf began to sing: 

 

_ In Dwimordene, in Lórien _ __  
_ Seldom have walked the feet of Men, _ __  
_ Few mortal eyes have seen the light _ __  
_ That lies there ever, long and bright. _ __  
_ Galadriel! Galadriel! _ __  
_ Clear is the water of your well; _ __  
_ White is the star in your white hand; _ __  
_ Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land _ __  
_ In Dwimordene, in Lórien _ _  
_ __ More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.

 

As Gandalf sang, Faramir noticed a change. By the end of the tune, he had cast his tattered cloak aside and stood tall, leaning no longer on his staff; and he spoke in a cold clear voice. “The wise speak only what they know, Gríma son of Gálmód. A wicked serpent you have become, so keep your sly tongue between your teeth and be silent! I have not passed through fire and death to hear bandy crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls!” Then Gandalf raised his staff high, and there was a great roll of thunder. Suddenly, the entirety of the Great Hall was cloaked in darkness. 

 

“You see he has kept his staff and brought ruin, as I counseled you, Lord! The fool, Háma, has betrayed us!” Hissed Gríma. Then there was a great cry and a flash of lightning, and Gríma lay cowering on the stone floor at the Company’s feet. All was silent. 

 

“Now, Théoden, my friend, you see this worm as he be. Will you not ask for help?” Said Gandalf softly. He then lifted his staff and pointed it to a far window; almost at once the room became light once more. “There is more light in the world than can be guessed. Look not to the darkness for answers, Lord of the Mark. I cannot counsel you in your grief nor your past. But, I can give counsel when of need. Too long you have sat in the shadows, stewing in your own pain. Come! Rise and stand to face the day!” 

 

Slowly, the King rose from his cold seat. Theoden began to walk, and the maiden hastened to his side. They then passed Gríma, and she spit on where he cowered. Upon reaching the great door to the hall, Gandalf rapted against the door and cried: “Open! The Lord of the Mark comes forth!” 

 

The door creaked and sunlight was strewn into the Great Hall. The Four Hunters followed the King as he stepped forth into the open world. Faramir turned to his companions: Aragorn stood thoughtful by his side, watching Gandalf and Théoden exchange sparse words with interest. Legolas looked about the Hall and was wondering quietly to himself in regards to its grandeur. Gimli was looking disgustedly on Grima’s cowering body. 

 

Faramir turned his attention back to the King, for he had thrown away his staff, and in that instant he stood bold and tall. Theoden turned to Gandalf and said not in the voice of an old man but clear and hard: “Dark have been my dreams of late, but I feel as one new-awakened. I would now that you had come before, Gandalf. For I fear, at last, you have come to the last days of my house. What must we do?” 

 

And so Gríma was taken and turned to errand bearer, and once again the King sat at his seat at the end of the Hall, but he was restored to his former glory verily. In turn the Four Hunters were gifted with shining mail, and their weapons were returned to them. After war-council and deliberation, it was decided that Éowyn, the hard-eyed maiden was to rule in Éomer’s place. For Dunharrow was were Théoden had decided they were to journey. 

 

Later, as preparations to set out began, the Lady Éowyn came to Faramir. “You have been assailed and wounded on your quest.” Said she, “I am no healer, lord. But, I have been trained in such arts as necessary. Come! Let me see your ills.” 

 

Faramir then showed her all that had befallen him; the crusted blood, old bandages, and all. Swiftly, she made work of the ailments and soon they were cleaned and bandaged anew. 

 

“That shall hold for now,” Éowyn said. 

 

“My lady, you are kind,” Faramir smiled, “You know even not my name and would help me. You are virtuous indeed.” 

 

“Why then, sire. Tell it! For I surely must know that which I hath bestowed great kindness upon.” 

 

“Tis Faramir, good woman. And I hope you and I to be great friends,” Faramir shifted, “If you will it.” 

 

“Not Faramir of Denethor so deceased!” She cried. 

 

“Verily, my Lady.” Faramir mumbled, “But eyes can see I am no drowned corpse.” 

 

“Indeed, sire! But, there is no need to ask of you such things. We shall be friends. So tell me; What make you of your King’s heir? Your Aragorn?” 

 

Faramir’s eyes became sorrowful but for a moment, “He is not mine, good madam.” He sighed quietly, “He is Gondor’s to serve. Readily, he prepares and often is he tested. I no more doubt him than I doubt my left hand.” 

 

“Then he is a true man and an honest one?” Said Éowyn. 

 

“By the Sun, yes.” 

 

“Then I am content,” Said she, “But, come! You are to travel with my Uncle, and I am to protect my people. Let us not tarry in our duties!” Éowyn extended a hand, and Faramir grasped it surely. Then, she was gone to her chambers, and he to Hasufel, where Aragorn sat waiting. 

 

“You are well, my friend?” Asked Aragorn as Faramir climbed into the saddle. 

 

Faramir looked at Aragorn’s stern features and Kingly disposition. He felt the quickened beat of his heart. “I am for now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters now have scroll over text! Just place your mouse on the Elvish and it'll translate!
> 
> (art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (i livetweet when i write! @wow__then)


	17. The Battle of the Hornburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rohirrim ride to Dunharrow, and the Battle of Helm's Deep occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! it sure has been a while huh lmao ive spent uhhh about 3 months writing this chapter on and off and it was a toughie but it's all good and done now! please enjoy it as i worked very hard on it! and happy holidays!!
> 
> please comment!!

In the dark shadows of night their grim Band set out. They were comprised of able bodied Men and some of the fiercest women who had refused to stay behind. Together, they rode north-westward across the rolling foothills of the White Mountains. 

 

Their horses ran swiftly; Théoden and Gandalf led the procession, Snowmane and Shadowfax ever diligent. Aragorn and Faramir rode alongside Háma, who had refused to stay behind due to allegiance to his Lord. Éomer rode by Legolas and Gimli, keeping them close so as not to lose them in the crowd of manes and Men. 

 

They continued for hours until they rested at last. Faramir slid carefully down from Hasufel and pat the horse’s nose. The journey was long and Isengard loomed in the distance, nestled between the Misty Mountains. Faramir suppressed a shudder. The watch of Saruman seemed ever present throughout their journey and now more so as they neared the Wizard’s place. 

 

“It is unfortunate for Dunharrow to remain so close to an evil dwelling.” Faramir thought. He settled down by one of the many fires about the camp, massaging his left foot once he was seated. He looked out about the camp. Men and women were gathered in groups, and a tent had been hastily constructed for Théoden and his closest company. “Likely Aragorn, Gandalf, and Éomer are making counsel inside.” Faramir thought, turning his gaze away. 

 

The Moon was high in the sky and shone, only slightly obscured by the dark incoming clouds of the East. 

 

“It is a black night.” Said a voice by his side. “I would not wish the shadow at our heels, but it remains our duty to give it chase.” Gimli retrieved his water skin and took a long swig. “Alas that we are the bearers of such harsh events, and alas for poor Frodo and his Sam! Who are surely in greater peril than we.” 

 

“Do you think they will succeed?” Faramir murmured, “Do you think we  _ all  _ will succeed?” 

 

Gimli tugged at his beard and hummed in thought. Stoking the flame, he said: “I do not believe it is a question of success. For how can success be measured? To a Man, it may be the size of his wealth, to another the size of his farm. To a Dwarf, success could be great love,” Gimli’s eyes flickered towards Legolas, who had come up silently to the fire, “or success in battle. Now, I don’t know the measure of success for Elves or Wizards but I do know this: At the end of this, we will know what we have gained, and what we have lost. And it is my hope that none of our Company will be among that number.” 

 

“Aye,  _ e pêd thand _ , we must count Elbereth’s stars of luck that, for we know, we remain whole in number,” Legolas said, “Especially you,  _ mellon _ , who greeted Death’s door not long ago.” 

 

Faramir sighed, “I worry for the hobbits. And I know, I am still mending. But, the Black Gates of Mordor will not be kind to any living thing save what dark twisted creature serves the Eye, and I cannot bear the thought of the trials they might face.” Faramir rubbed at his temple and slumped his arms onto his knees, “I only wish for this burden to released from their hands as soon as possible. Yet. We all offered our service and strength, and I do not doubt them. Not at all.” 

 

Gimli rubbed at his back, “That is a very well way to go about it.” He paused, and stuffed his water skin into his pack once more. “Ach! Enough of this grim talk! Tell me, Faramir, I see the wayward looks you cast in his direction. Do you feel longing for your King of Old?” 

 

Legolas laughed gaily as Faramir turned shocked towards the Dwarf. “I do not understand what you mean.” Stuttered Faramir, “Yes, I do wish for him to claim the throne, if that is what you have asked.” 

 

Gimli smiled, “Ah, that is well and good, but you know the meaning of my words, don’t you, my friend?” 

 

“Your face has gone the shade of the Hobbit’s red tomato!” Giggled Legolas. 

 

Faramir shoved the two lightly: “I know not what you mean,  _ truly _ !” The mischievous pair laughed again. “If I feel any affection for him, it is as  _ gwedeir, _ ” Faramir laughed nervously, “Besides, Aragorn has an Elvish love at home, does he not? What need would he have for more than that?” Faramir tapped his foot stressfully. 

 

“Ah, the Lady Evenstar is Aragorn’s most trusted friend, but love? She has known him since he were no smaller than Gimli here, whatever love in her heart is familial. Not romantic.” Said Legolas slyly. “Oh Faramir, my most intelligent friend, you are shrouding your eyes purposely! Do not despair as I did once; there is no such need! We have seen the tender looks Aragorn has cast your way. He waits for you to approach him out of courtesy.” 

 

Gimli smacked Faramir on the arm amicably, “You are a matched pair! I do not know the courtship of Men, but my People believe that if there is love to be found, one must grasp at it with all the fervour of the known world! Isn’t it true,  _ amrâlimê? _ ” Gimli smiled at Legolas. 

 

“Aye, these are dark times. It would do you well to find light within.” Said Legolas.  

 

“We shall leave you to your own devices, but do not forget our words!” Said Gimli. Together, the Elf and Dwarf left to tend to their steed. 

 

Faramir groaned and watched the pair saunter away, giggling like children. Was it true? Had he been avoiding his own feelings? “But, now is not the time to examine them in detail!” Thought Faramir somewhat worriedly, “You are to reach Dunharrow tomorrow. Do so then in a safer place than this open aired camp!” Yet, Faramir’s heart mind betrayed him, and unbidden, recalled all the conversations and quiet moments with Aragorn. At last, what was locked away in his heart was revealed. “Oh no.” Faramir said, glancing worriedly towards Théoden’s tent. “Oh! This cannot be!” He cried softly, his face red in the dark. 

 

“What ails you, friend?” Said a voice above him. Faramir whipped around. Háma’s face was lit by the soft fire. 

 

“It is nothing!” Faramir muttered, “Only a foolish affair of the heart.” 

 

“Ah,” Said Háma, “In war it is not uncommon for feelings between friends to develop. But, I shall not bother you of them here. The world is in such a state, and though love is a beautiful gift; it is unwise to run headfirst into the flames when the room is of a similar state.” Háma sat down by Faramir’s side. “However, I cannot mark myself as great counsel in love. I embrace the kinship of my friends, but a great love that bears family? I cannot see such a thing in my future,” He laughed softly. 

 

“Does it not trouble you?” Asked Faramir. 

 

“Oh, not at all,” Smiled Háma, “I hold great love for my Lord, and the Earth, and our Horses, and many other things. I am not incapable of loving, simply, I find love in a different regard.” 

 

Faramir stoked the fire thoughtfully. “I admire you, Háma. You are untroubled, it seems, by weight of the world.” 

 

“Perhaps,” Said he, “But, my heart is darkened by the East, and too is it darkened by Wormtongue’s retreat. I fear that wretched slime will be seen yet.” Háma sighed then, and his eyes sought the war-tent as Faramir’s had before. “Forgive me,” He said, standing, “I did not wish to weight your mind with bleak talk. I must go; doubtless, there are reports to be made.” 

 

Faramir nodded. “One day this bleak talk will cease.” 

 

“We can only hope,” Smiled Háma somberly. 

 

Faramir paused then, and observed the Moon high in the sky. “I will accompany you, if you don’t mind it.” He said. 

 

Háma pat Faramir on the back, “You are good company, Master Faramir! And I am glad of it. Come! The dark will not last, and we will travel again soon.” Faramir went with him.

 

Then they went to the tent; inside they found Théoden and Gandalf deep in council, and Aragorn was bent over a map, tracing the lines of past paths with his finger. Háma went then to his Lord, to learn him of the camp’s tidings. Faramir was left lonesome. 

 

Faramir cleared his throat. Aragorn looked up, his face worn and his eyes grey and tired. But, his eyes softened in recognition, and Faramir felt heat in his face. He remembered then, the mischievous words of Legolas and Gimli, “I cannot dwell on such thoughts at the present!” He berated himself inwardly. “It is a disservice to Aragorn as a friend and King.” He cleared his throat once more, pushing aside his thoughts. “What have you made of this map?” Faramir asked. 

 

Aragorn dragged a hand over his face and laughed bitterly. “It seems we are dogged by the enemy on two fronts! For behind us lies the path to the Black Lands, and before us sits Saruman in his black tower. I am beginning to think that our only chance is to make a show of great force, but how? I do not know it yet.” 

 

The map indeed showed Isengard, a black mark in the North, and the Black Lands of Mordor, its armies ever amassing near Minas Tirith. A chill fell over Faramir’s mind, and his heart cried out in anguish for the Men of the West. “Oh that I were in Gondor!” Despaired Faramir, “My people there are hard of heart, but they remain subdued by the Shadow in the East! I have great love for them and to think of them suffering so is a heavy blow!” Faramir sighed. 

 

“We will unite at Dunharrow,” Said Aragorn. He placed a hand on Faramir’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, “Do not despair overmuch, my dear friend. This will not last.” He said quietly. 

 

Faramir nodded, and waited for Aragorn to drop his hand. However, it rested there on his shoulder. Faramir met Aragorn’s eyes tentatively; the Ranger’s eyes were soft and warm in their gaze. Then, his grip slackened, and Aragorn’s hand fell. The moment had passed. 

 

-

 

In the grey morning their Band departed once more, their pace renewed by the morning light that cast away all Shadow. As they neared Dunharrow, Faramir noticed the landscape grow brown and dead. The grass was dry and the land seemed darker in a way. The air was thick, and the sky was blanketed with humid black clouds. There was a red light about the sky, and all of great Band seemed to Faramir, dappled in blood. 

 

In the red glow of late noon Faramir could see a dark shape. “A Rider?” He wondered aloud. 

 

“I am sure of it,” Stated Aragorn, “But what is their purpose? I knew of no messages sent to Dunharrow before we set out.” 

 

“Perhaps they bear ill news?” Said Faramir. 

 

“Perhaps...” Aragorn muttered. He turned slightly so as to face Faramir. “I advise you remain by my side until their intentions are brought to light. I know you are stubborn and capable, but you are still injured, my friend.” Aragorn smiled. 

 

Faramir opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by the arrival of the Rider. “Is Éomer here? Tell him to turn back! All has come to ruin since Théodred fell! We were driven back across the River Isen, suffering great loss! And at night our camp was ambushed by fresh forces! All of Saruman and his cruel hoard must be run out of the land, for he has armed the wild men and the Natives of Dunland and set them upon us like evil thieves in the night! The shield-wall was broken! Even now Erkenbrand draws the Men he could gather to Helm’s Deep! We are overmastered and scattered.” The Rider jumped from his steed and ran about the group, “Where is Éomer? Tell him there is no hope to be found here. Let him return to Edoras before the wolves and hounds of Saruman overtake him also!” 

 

Faramir saw Théoden stir behind his guards and spur Snowmane forward. “Stand before me, Ceorl! The last host of the Eorlingas has ridden forth, and we will not return without battle!” 

 

Ceorl started and stared at the King. He rushed forth to Théoden upon his steed and cried out: “Command me, Lord! And forgive me for I only thought -” 

 

“You believed me sitting in my Hall, bent and wizened, clinging to my cloaks, whispering orders like a foolish puppet? So it was before when you rode out, but never more!” Théoden then turned his steed to the Band and commanded: “Give this man a fresh horse! We will ride to the aid of Erkenbrand!” 

 

Then, Faramir saw that Gandalf had ridden ahead. A queer light was in his eye, and he was bent speaking to Shadowfax in a hushed tone. Quickly, he rose and spoke: “Rise Théoden! Ride to Helm’s Deep! Go forth from the plains to the Ford of Isen, do not tarry! There is something I must do. Shadowfax must bear me now! Ride forth!” And with a spur to the steed’s side he galloped away. 

 

“I know not whether this bodes ill,” Worried Faramir, “Alas, I cannot forever remain by your side in the midst of battle. For surely we now ride towards it, more so than before.” 

 

Aragorn’s gaze flicked over Faramir behind him. “Indeed,” He whispered. 

 

-

 

At last they came before the Deeping-Coomb, and Faramir's heart lifted. But, the as the Band approached they were assailed by swift arrows. A Scout was sent and readily he returned bringing tidings of Wolf-Riders in the valley. "And there seemed to me a host of Orcs and Wild Men coming from the Fords

of Isen. When I came to the Dike, I saw before me many Men, strewn prone and dead upon the grass. It is likely Erkenbrand has been overrun too-late! He will be overtaken before we reach Helm's Gate, if there is any luck for that at all." 

 

“ _ Natha daw myrn,”  _ Faramir heard Legolas whisper from his seat upon Arod. 

 

“And what of Gandalf?” Called Gimli. 

 

“Yes. Where has Grayhame gone?” Asked Théoden to the Scout. 

 

“I have seen him riding thither over the plains. He goes back and forth, perhaps even to Isengard.” The Scout rode to Théoden’s side then, “And Lord, I have seen Wormtongue leading a Company of Orcs.” 

 

“That is bitter news for him,” Laughed the King, “No luck will be with Wormtongue, if Gandalf is behind him.” He paused then, on Snowmane, and thought. Théoden turned his steed to the Band, “We will continue! Erkenbrand being there or no! We ride to Helm’s Gate!” 

 

Spears rang in the advancing darkness. Éomer rode swiftly to the Scout. “How great is their Host in the North?” He asked. 

 

“There are two for every one man,” Said the Scout. 

 

Faramir looked back upon the Band of Rohan. They were small. One thousand at the least. Not enough to shear off Orcs in the Night. He caught Aragorn’s eye. In his look it was plain that his thoughts were not dissimilar. “Alas to be in these times!” Thought Faramir despairingly, “It is unsure even if we will survive the night!” 

 

A great cry of the Band racked him from his thoughts. Éomer had spoken more with Théoden. They continued their trek.

 

-

 

At last the Band came to the breach in Helm’s Dike. Looking to the skies, Faramir could see the Hornburg was raised, silent and sharp, cutting into the sky like a dark shadow. Behind them, the terrible host of Orcs and Uruks could be heard. Their spears shook and echoed a few miles behind them. Éomer rode below to the high rampart of Helm’s Deep and called to the Watchmen. They answered heartily, and it was discovered that they were a thousand men strong for Erkenbrand had left many men to hold the Gate. They retreated inside quickly. 

 

Faramir marveled at the Stronghold of the Rohirrim. It was high domed and made of dark stone. A few slender windows looked out to the black night from whence they had come, and narrow, uneven stairs circled to vantage points raised high above the Coomb. 

 

Aragorn went with Théoden to the high tower, so as to plot some strategy. Faramir wandered to the armoury, there Men were being outfitted with all gear necessary and at hand. He stood amazed in despair at what he saw. These Men were too old or too young. Some no higher than Faramir’s hip. “What horrid times we are in.” Faramir muttered sadly. Somberly, he went to aid them.

 

-

 

It was past midnight. All who were able had set themselves about the rampart and Gate. The Coomb was silent, save for the heavy tramp of the Orc Host as it marched down the steep valley. Faramir shivered. A chill wind had set up against the backs of the longwearing guard. 

 

“Ach, their pace is that of a snail’s!” Whispered Gimli; the Dwarf stood at eye level to the rampart wall, tensely gripping his axe. 

 

“Be glad,  _ meleth nîn, _ that they move in such a way. It gives us more time to prepare.” Legolas said, watching the Orcs warily. 

 

“I would be glad for my axe to cut Orc throat.” 

 

“And I would be glad for this evil to be gone,” Said Faramir, “But we must last the night first.” 

 

“Aye,” Said Legolas, “Do not fear, Gimli, there will many throats to cut this night.” 

 

Gimli humphed with impatience but nodded. A crew of archers had set upon the forefront of the Host by horses, and now returned wildly through the Gate below the rampart. Faramir squinted in the dark. “My eyes are not farseeing enough to see their faces. I do not know if that is a blessing or no.” Saying so he grimaced. 

 

“I shall describe it for both of you, if I must.” Said Legolas, “But I think a Dwarf’s eyes are better in the dark.” 

 

“A dwarf may have better eyes,” Gimli grumbled, “But it need not matter if his nose does not reach the rampart edge!” 

 

Legolas chuckled and flicked his eyes to Gimli. “Oh?” He asked, “Shall I get you something to stand upon?” Gimli huffed and pushed Legolas good-naturedly. 

 

However, whatever gaiety was lost soon. Faramir saw Legolas grow stiff and strained. 

 

“What is it?” He asked. 

 

“They have overrun the Dike.” Legolas pointed far from the high wall; indeed, Faramir saw them at last, a great Host marching over the high hill. The tramps of feet and strike of drum echoed with the sound of thunder from above. At last, the full Host was before the rampart of the Hornburg. From along the wall, a silent signal was passed, and all Men drew back from sight. Faramir stood aback with the others, listening to the heavy fall of feet below. At once, there was a whistling sound and great cries echoed in the Deep. The Men drew back to their posts stealthily. Faramir drew his bow readily, and Legolas the same. Then, came a cry from Gamling, and all on rampart loosed their arrows in tandem. Below came cries and shrieks of foul creatures below, felled by the swift death of arrows or rocks. From above, Faramir could see the great Host was shaken. 

 

“They are breaking ranks!” He thought giddily. Again, Gamling signaled a release and arrows were sent down readily. But the Host would not relent, they gathered and some turned away from the Wall, choosing instead to go to the tree line. 

 

“They will fell the trees!” Whispered Legolas, a horrified wonder in his voice. 

 

Gimli shifted, axe in hand, “That is a foolish endeavor. The forest is unkind.” 

 

A thought came to him as Faramir watched them hewn at the trunk of a gnarled oak. “They mean to break the Gate! I am sure of it!” He gasped, “Gimli, you must warn Éomer and Aragorn down below!” 

 

Gimli nodded and sprinted away to the steps by the far wall. “We cannot hold the rampart and wall forever, but if the Gate is lost: we will be close to ruin.” Faramir said grimly, nocking his bow as Legolas did the same. Again, an onslaught of arrows flew near their heads, some striking the Men on the Wall with great force. But, the attention of the front Host had turned and their focus remained on battering the Gates of the fortress. It was a dismal and grim thing to watch. 

 

However, Faramir’s attention was pulled to the forefront too often to see the commotion; he could only watch from the corner of his eye. The onslaught of arrows never seemed to slacken; Legolas had taken to keeping count of his felled enemies in an attempt to somehow lighten the mood. Faramir felt that it would perhaps be better received by Gimli as sport. But, Gimli, after running to the Gate, had not returned. 

 

From below came a great cry, but the sound of battle was loud in Faramir’s ears, and he could not tell from which side it came. Then, from a postern-door between the wall and cliff came the tell-tale cries of horses! The Gate had at last been forced open, but a sortie had come to scatter the attackers. 

 

“I see them!” Cried Legolas, “It is Aragorn and Éomer!” 

 

Faramir’s heart lifted, turning back, he continued to shoot at the forefront Host with renewed vigor. However, he was running out of arrows, and Faramir could at last feel the pain again from his bitter battle with the Orcs by the Anduin. Lady Éowyn’s healing had only done so much, and the sores and aches of running continuously for days without aid or medicine at last reared its head. Faramir grit his teeth. 

 

Legolas gasped beside him. “There is Gimli!” He cried with delight, “Éomer fell from his steed! Gimli is there, and has felled the Orcs that dared approach him!” But, the Elf’s joy was cut short: another great cry came from the Host below. 

 

Faramir swore beneath his breath. “Ladders!” He shouted, “They mean to scale the Wall!” Faramir could hear Gamling shouting orders in Rohirric to the Men around them. The ladders fell upon the Wall viciously, and soon Faramir had drawn his sword, fighting back the Orcs who had gotten to the rampart. 

 

One by one, those fighting on the rampart managed to knock the ladder back to the ground, but morale was low and the Men were tired. Suddenly, a rain of arrows came from behind them, striking many in the back as they came. A small group of Orcs had crawled beneath the Wall. But, before Faramir could lift his sword in retaliation, a group of Men from inside the Hornburg came upon them. 

 

Legolas looked to Faramir, nodded, and ran down the stairs to join the fray. Faramir ran about the rampart, dodging blows from both sides to find what new arrows he might stick in his quiver. As he reached for an arrow left in a dead Rohirrim’s quiver there was a deafening blast from where he had stood by the stairs. Dust and rubble came flying from the place, and as he turned his head, Faramir saw a great hole where the Wall had stood bulwark and resolute. The Host had broken through. 

 

Shouts echoed below, and Faramir could see Éomer and Gimli calling for retreat into the Glittering Caves far in the back of the fortress. He rushed back to his original post, searching among the rubble for Men who could still fight. Down below, Faramir again heard a cry, but the voice was very familiar to his ears. Aragorn had been overrun by Uruks and Andúril shone cold in the moonlight. Faramir’s heart thudded in his ears. Swiftly, he found a large boulder; pushing it with all his strength, it fell over the gap in the Wall, crushing the Uruks around Aragorn. Faramir looked around wildly, and seeing the stair had not been completely destroyed, he joined the fray. 

 

Slashing his way through Uruks, he came at last to Aragorn. “It is good to see you, my friend!” Said Aragorn over the sound of battle. 

 

“Yes. I was worried for you,” Faramir said, beheading an Orc. 

 

“Worried for me?” Aragorn laughed, “You are the one who bears great wounds!” He slashed and wrestled with an Uruk, and Andúril gleamed. 

 

“We will all bear some hurt after this ends.  _ If  _ it ends!” Faramir struck an Uruk, shaking his right hand in pain, he said: “Whatever blasted the Gate, they will use it again, there is no doubt!” 

 

“Perhaps we can convince them otherwise?” Saying so Aragorn cut out the legs of an Orc that had crept behind Faramir. 

 

“My thanks, but I do not think -” He began, but Aragorn had already turned for the stair. “Aragorn! There is no reasoning with them!” But, his words went unheeded. Faramir continued to fight but kept Aragorn in the corner of his eye. 

 

“Come down! Come down!” Cried and jeered the Host by the Wall. Aragorn stood stalwart, heeding not the raining arrows nor rocks cast forth by the enemy. “If you wish to speak to us, come down! Bring out your failing king! We are the fighting Uruk-hai! Bring down your skulking king! Or we will come and find him ourselves!” 

 

Aragorn stood tall on the rampart, “The king will come or stay at his own will.” Said he, calm and resolute. Faramir was amazed; how Aragorn could stand so calm and cool in the face of such evil was beyond him. He turned his attention back to the fight at hand. He trusted Aragorn, and knew in his heart that the battle would end in some way, soon. Aragorn’s words with the Host soon became overrun by the clangs and clashes of sword against scimitar, and all Faramir could do was hope. 

 

Still, it was clear, whatever Aragorn was saying was stalling the Host, and the Sun began to show her fair face, scorning the Orcs who had come from their holes to fight. But, the Uruk-hai remained. As Faramir fought he saw Wild Men cower and flee, but the Uruk-hai still remained and laughed at Aragorn standing on the high Wall. Suddenly, there was a great blast of fire and smoke. The archway of the Gate had been blow away. 

 

“ _ Aragorn! _ ” Cried Faramir. But, in the dust he could see the man’s figure darting to the king’s tower. 

 

The Host rumbled, emboldened and ready to charge. Just then, the great horn of the Helm rang. The sound echoed from every wall, and every cliff face, and the blackhearts of the Enemy Host trembled at the sound of it. A rumble like the beating of fast drums came from the felled Gate; out from the wreckage rode a Band of Riders, headed by King Théoden himself. 

 

“Helm! Helm!” They cried out as one, “Helm is arisen and comes back to war! Helm for Théoden king!” Théoden’s steed was snow white and gleamed in the early morning light, as did his golden shield and his sword was long. Faramir could then see Aragorn riding at the king’s side. He was just as proud and as strong. Faramir’s heart swelled with pride and adoration. 

 

“Forth Eorlingas!” Called Théoden. 

 

Faramir continued his fight on the ground, but his heart was hearken by the appearance of the two kings, and he became bolder and less tiresome. The light had changed once more. No longer was the morning dim and grey, but bright and the light was white and clear on the horizon. And on the horizon Faramir saw him. “Gandalf!” He cried merrily, and behind him in the crowd he heard Legolas’ clear voice also cry: “ _ Mithrandir! _ ” 

 

He could not see much, fighting as he was, at the bottom of the Deep, but the cries of the Rohirrim confirmed his suspicions. “Erkenbrand! Erkenbrand!” They called, thumping their shields, their swords ringing in praise. The Enemy Host quailed at their coming. The last of the Orcs and Uruk-hai screamed and squealed, and dropped their swords and shields, fleeing from the second Host that had come. Gandalf, the White Rider, came upon them, and they fled like cats from water. Wailing they ran to the cover of the forest, and from there they never returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters now have scroll over text! Just place your mouse on the Elvish and it'll translate!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> e pêd thand : "He speaks true"
> 
> mellon : "friend"
> 
> gwedeir : Brothers (Used in the context of 'Brothers in Arms' meaning, not related by blood)
> 
> amrâlimê : "my love"
> 
> Natha daw myrn : "It will be [a] black night"
> 
> (art by me, find more on my tumblr @fishfingersandscarves)
> 
> (i livetweet when i write! @wow__then)


End file.
